Consequences
by skag trendy
Summary: One-shot in honour of gidgetgal9 for her birthday... We learn by our mistakes. But for Sam the consequences of a near miss become too much to handle.
1. Chapter 1

**Consequences**

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One-shot in honour of gidgetgal9 for her birthday...but with a distinct possibility for a sequel. Not sure yet.

Ok. Decided. I have another chapter to post!

**We learn by our mistakes. But for Sam the consequences of a near miss become too much to handle.**

_**Warning: **_**Suicide attempt. Going on the basis that life often gets out of hand and way too serious for teenagers, but for someone like Sam Winchester given what his family gets up to? We're talking a major recipe for disaster.**

**Sam 14, Dean 18.**

**Form your own opinion about John in this one. I look forward to hearing from you.**

**Oh, and please read any authors notes at the end, just in case there are any misunderstandings.**

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On his brother's instructions Sam crept round the other side of the graveyard, shotgun raised, eyes peeled for the slightest movement. However, his mind was wandering. He shouldn't have been here tonight. In fact his _father_ shouldn't have been here tonight. It was parents evening at Sam's school and though he didn't really expect John to go he had kind of hoped he would. Aside from wanting his dad to hear about _his _achievements and be proud of _him_ for once instead of his erstwhile older brother, Sam wasn't looking forward to explaining to his teachers why John hadn't been there to discuss his youngest son's future. But then, John didn't think Sam _had_ a future, at least not in the academic sense.

Stifling a sigh, Sam edged forward until the wide expanse of the graveyard opened up. Somewhere on the other side his father was digging his way down to the coffin, with Dean standing by, lighter fluid at the ready.

Yeah, Dean got to stand proudly at their father's side, whilst Sam was relegated to reconnaissance. He'd pretty much figured out that this was the way things would always be. John and Dean Winchester, great hunting team…oh, and that nerdy geek, lurking in the background….what was his name again? Sam someone?

A sudden bolt of anger and shame swamped him at the thought, and he slumped miserably against a nearby tombstone. The argument that had taken place earlier that evening hadn't helped his mood…

_Dad, we got parent's evening tonight. Remember?_

_Sorry Sam, but this bitch of a ghost is causing havoc._

_But Dad…_

_T__hat's enough Sam. I want you ready to go and in the car in two minutes._

It had been on the tip of Sam's tongue to point out that he really wasn't needed on a routine salt and burn anyway, but the furious gleam in his father's eye warned him right off any further backchat.

Dean hadn't been impressed either. He'd been standing in the kitchen doorway at the time, and when John moved out to the car couldn't resist putting in his own two cense worth.

_It's just parent's evening dude. Get over it; last thing we wanna hear is you whining all night._

And that was just Dean being Dean, no malice involved just speaking in his usual matter-of-fact tone; his own warning to his little brother that the last thing he wanted was to once again come between his father and brother. That he was fed up with being used as a human shield.

But then they hadn't known just how hard he'd worked on his science project, had even won an award for it. It was meant to be one last ditched attempt to actually feel like a success in the family, to actually _feel a part of the family._

Sam was startled out of his thoughts by a shout followed by a cry of pain, which he recognised as Dean's, and immediately broke into a run over the uneven ground, fear and adrenaline pumping through his veins. He skidded to a halt at the sight of his brother sprawled on the ground, groaning and clutching his wrist, the spirit poised over him ready for its next attack, and his father desperately trying to scramble out of the grave and frantically yelling for Sam.

The spirit dove for Dean, wrapping cold grey hands around his neck, and Sam could hear his brother gasping for breath as his windpipe was slowly crushed.

Biting back his panic, Sam raised the shotgun and fired. The spirit screeched angrily, didn't dissipate in the slightest, just changed direction and suddenly the young Winchester found himself the target of one very pissed off ghost. Standing his ground, head high, Sam fired again just as she swooped in for the kill and shortly realised he was airborne a split second before the back of his head connected with a stone mausoleum. Fighting to stay conscious, Sam reached sluggishly into his jacket pocket for more rock salt shells. He could just about see the ghost lunging for him one more time and he knew he was too slow.

The smell of accelerant suddenly filled the air followed by burning wood and bone. A loud screech was cut short leaving a shocking silence in the night air.

Sam understood what happened; his father had used Sam's distraction to salt and spray the corpse then throw in the lit match, because even with his darkening vision he could spot the flames leaping inside the grave, right from where he lay on the cold damp ground.

The spirit was taken care of.

But Dean was hurt and that didn't sit well with Sam, especially as he knew full well it was his fault. If he hadn't been distracted by his own self-pity it would never have happened. It was that thought that forced Sam to snap open his eyes. _Just how bad was his brother hurt?_

_Nononono...she was strangling him...please Dean be ok..._

Ignoring the skull splitting pain in his head, with the help of the very stone monument that caused it, he got shakily to his feet and tried to make his way over to his family in double time.

His dad was crouched beside Dean, one arm round his shoulders and helping him to stand up. Dean groaned in pain, still holding his wrist which was now swelling nicely.

"Dad? Is he ok?" Sam called softly, anxiously.

"I'm gonna get him to the ER. That wrist's probably broken and needs a cast." And Sam bit his lip at the neutral tone, and the way his father _wouldn't even look at him._

"Let me help." And Sam made to slide an arm round Dean's other shoulder to assist him to the car.

"Leave it Sam." John replied, voice still neutral though this time there was a distinct edge to it.

Sam backed off and trailed behind his family, self-loathing and misery warring for space in his head. He fought back tears as his head suddenly pounded with renewed viciousness, and swallowed back a gasp of pain. Blinking frantically to stay awake, Sam trudged onwards. His family would hardly thank him for passing out on them after his performance tonight. God, he was such a screw-up they'd probably just leave him lying there if it weren't for the one hell of a bawling out he knew was coming. Sam was resigned; it was nothing more than he deserved.

But that thought didn't stop his heart from breaking a little when Dean brushed off his apology with just a shrug of the shoulders. And _just_ like their dad, his brother wouldn't look him in the eye. Sam wondered if Dean realised how similar he was to their father at times.

The journey to the hospital was quiet, strained, and Sam tried to block it out as he laid his aching head against the passenger window. The next thing he knew he was being shaken awake none too gently by John and Sam blinked in surprise. He hadn't realised he'd fallen asleep.

Sam wasn't even allowed to accompany his brother into the ER, and was told to wait in the car. Three long hours later, Sam was shivering with the cold and his head hurt even more. His eyes filled with tears until he saw the familiar silhouettes of his brother and father leaving the building.

His father slid behind the wheel without a word and Dean followed suit into the front passenger seat.

Sam's eyes swivelled from one to the other in the darkness of the car, wondering if he should try again to apologise, but the atmosphere felt so loaded with animosity that he reluctantly swallowed the words and bowed his head.

On reaching the rented apartment, John ordered Dean to get some sleep, but told Sam to go stand in the kitchen.

Stand. Not sit. John was quite clear on that and it wasn't a good sign.

Sam waited for at least half an hour, swaying on his feet, before his father entered the room, closed the door and sat at the kitchen table. Sam just about managed to stiffen his spine the moment John finally _really_ looked at him.

John eyed his youngest worriedly. Where was the defiant Sam Winchester? The one that would look him in the eye and argue that black was in fact white until the cows sauntered home? This wasn't his Sam. _This_ person stared at the floor, quiet and withdrawn, clearly feeling too guilty for a screaming match. But John couldn't afford to go easy on him, not this time. It had been too close.

"Sam, where were you when Dean was being tossed about like a rag doll?"

No answer, not even sullenly shrugged shoulders.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you."

Sam raised his head, but the long fringe hid his eyes from view, and for some reason John was rather relieved about that.

"You jeopardized the hunt and Dean got hurt because you weren't focussing. Fortunately, things turned out ok but it could have been a lot worse. Someone could have died, _Dean_ could've died and it would have been on your shoulders."

He noted with grim satisfaction the small flinch at that. It wasn't that he was trying to hurt his youngest, he just wanted him to realise that his irresponsible day dreaming could have had serious consequences. And he just knew Sam had been doing exactly that: day dreaming, or at least brooding over that damn parents evening.

Seeing the mouth down-turned in shame and misery, John thought maybe he should throw him a lifeline.

"However, I _am_ impressed with how you held off that ghost and kept it distracted so I could finish her. You saved Dean's life, so all is not lost son." John didn't notice the total lack of reaction to that, and unfortunately ruined the small morsel of praise he'd dealt out with his next statement. "But that's beside the point, Sam. If you'd had your head in the game to start with Dean wouldn't have gotten hurt in the first place. I expect to see a vast improvement in future. Now go get some sleep."

Sam didn't say a word, just shuffled dejectedly out of the room, his head once again bowed as if trying to shut the world out.

John sat there at the table for a moment longer, one eyebrow raised. Maybe Sam was finally getting it, learning that the constant questioning of direct orders was downright dangerous. He shrugged to himself and headed off to take a shower, thinking no more of it.

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Sam reached out to turn the door knob but found the door well and truly locked. His head shot up in shock and read the note attached to the bedroom door.

_There's blankets and a pillow on the couch; not in the mood for one of your emo conversations tonight. Get some sleep bitch._

Dean probably thought it was funny and it usually was. Locking each other out of their shared bedroom every time one of them needed some alone time was commonplace; after all, they were _both_ teenagers now and there were some things that needed a little privacy.

But tonight it struck a wrong note with Sam, and he blinked the tears away. Wrapping his arms round his stomach he headed back downstairs to the living room, and slowly lowered himself down to the couch, absentmindedly fingering the blankets.

He sat there just staring into space, feeling almost hypnotised, until Dean stumbled into the room yawning widely. Sam blinked up at him in surprise and realised his brother had asked him a question.

"…long you been up?"

Sam just stared at him, not sure he understood the question. Dean rolled his eyes, trundled across the room and wrenched open the curtains with his good hand, letting in a bright burst of morning sunlight that made Sam's head suddenly spike with pain.

Dean heard a small gasp behind him and turned sharply. "Sam? You ok?" He watched his brother with concern as Sam brought his hand down from his eyes.

"Yeah I'm fine. Just, sun's a little too bright, too soon." But Sam still wouldn't look at Dean. He got to his feet and headed for the door. "Gonna take a shower and get ready for school."

Dean frowned. "It's Saturday dude. No school. We're grocery shopping this morning, remember?"

Sam paused in the doorway but kept his back to Dean. "Uh…sure. Forgot. I'll be downstairs in a few." And left the room.

Dean heard his footsteps on the stairwell and turned to glance at the couch. Sam must have folded the blanket as soon as he woke up.

He shook his head in amusement and muttered "ever the neat freak" before making a bee-line for the kitchen and breakfast. So Sam was still sulking. Dean checked the cast on his arm and smiled grimly. _Won't do him any harm to stew in his own juices for a bit._

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Sam stood under the spray and closed his eye. He didn't understand what was happening to him. He felt weird. Sam had checked his eyes in the mirror and there was no sign of concussion, though he knew it could be a delayed response setting in. His head still hurt like a bitch and he just couldn't get coordinated. Sam was fairly certain he'd managed to keep it to himself however, and hoped his family just put his behaviour down to brooding over last night's events. Which wasn't far from the truth.

The water suddenly felt cold and he realised he'd been standing there for at least half an hour. _Where's the time gone? _Turning off the water and towelling himself dry, Sam stared at himself in the mirror once more. He realised just what he was looking at. An utter failure. Before tears threatened once more, he turned to make his way into the bedroom and dressed slowly, reluctant to face the day.

Down in the kitchen his brother and father were chatting away amiably, but as soon as he entered the room all talk ceased. It was all he could do not back out and head up to his room but he forced himself to sit at the table, hair once again hiding his face. He wasn't all that hungry but a bowl of cereal had been placed in front of him, so to avoid an interrogation he dug his spoon in and took small bites, chewing without enthusiasm. He didn't speak unless he was spoken to and only then he kept the answers to 'yes sir' or 'no sir' for his father, and with Dean he just 'hmmed' and 'snorted' in the appropriate places. Truth be told, he had no idea what they were talking about and didn't much care to get involved. His head just felt so _fuzzy_, and it was starting to scare him the way he kept fazing in and out without even realising it until he found that time had passed and he had no recollection.

A sudden firm grip on his arm made him look up into the less than amused face of his father.

"…you hear me Sam? You better quit this sulking real soon 'cos I'm already getting tired of it. We talked about it and it's time to let it go. We all make mistakes Sam, what's important is that we learn by them."

Sam stared at him in confusion. He had no idea what he was talking about so he just nodded along with it. "Yes sir."

Then without another word he got up, took his cereal bowl to the sink, washed and dried it, then left the kitchen. His father and brother stared after him in astonishment.

"Something's wrong with that kid, Dean." John mused aloud.

"You think that ghost did something to him last night? Cursed him maybe?" Dean asked, feeling rather alarmed by now and also starting to feel guilty for locking Sam out of their room last night. Sure, he'd been angry with him and didn't want an argument getting out of hand; when that happened things were said that shouldn't and one of them always ended up getting hurt. But if Sam was getting sick because of something they hadn't foreseen on a hunt…well, it didn't bear thinking about.

"Dad? Maybe Sam should stay home today. I'll go get the groceries on my own this time." Dean suggested, though he didn't really want to leave his baby brother, especially if there was a problem.

"Don't want you doing too much whilst that wrist of yours is mending."John tapped a finger thoughtfully on the table. "It's probably nothing, just bein' a typical moody teenager. Let's see how he gets on. I'll be going to the gunsmiths whilst you two are in the store, so I want you to keep a close eye on him."

Dean listened to Sam's movements in the next room, presumably putting his shoes on. "You know I will Dad."

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Sam wandered down the aisle in a bit of a daze, trying to remember what the hell he was supposed to be searching for. His head still felt fuzzy, achy and his limbs were as heavy as lead. A strip light on the high ceiling was flickering slightly, annoying him and he lifted his head to glare at it. He couldn't be certain but it seemed as though the flickering got worse, and suddenly he felt sick. His vision tilted violently as the world began to spin, slowly at first but with increasing speed.

He reached out to a shelf at waist height to steady himself, but the spinning and the flashing increased, then the floor rushed up to introduce itself to the back of his head.

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Try as he might Dean could barely get a response out of Sam, though he did managed to catch his eye at one point, and that helped Dean relax a little. His kid brother _was_ still sulking over the hunt; the guilt and fear in his eyes were evidence of that.

But something just wasn't quite right, because Sam wasn't being _Sam_. Maybe it was the teenage hormones kicking in, but Dean still worried about it.

He wheeled the cart down the canned goods aisle, determined that when they got back to the apartment he and Sam were going to have a long talk. Dean glanced at his watch. He'd sent Sam off to find the fabric softener a few minutes ago and he still hadn't shown his face.

_Probably gotten himself lost in the aisles._

Hearing a commotion on the other side of the store made Dean wheel the cart to a halt and frown. Someone was yelling in panic, and even though it sounded nothing like his brother Dean knew instinctively the kid was involved. Shoving the cart to one side, Dean sprinted down his aisle, turned left and headed towards the panic.

To be greeted with the shocking sight of his little brother convulsing violently on the floor, eyes rolled white and saliva bubbling at the corner of his mouth as a concerned citizen held his head firmly to stop it thumping against the tiled floor.

"Sammy!" Dean crashed to his knees beside his brother and tried to haul the kid into his arms, but someone stopped him.

"I wouldn't if I were you. He might not mean to son, but he could hurt you."

"Back off!" But Dean glanced up angrily into the kind eyes of the store manager, and his anger deflated a little.

"I've called 911; an ambulance is on its way." The manager wasn't in least bit worried by Dean's aggression. "What's your friend's name?"

Dean instantly regretted snapping at the guy; he was obviously trying to help. "His name's Sam; my little brother. I'm Dean."

His attention was caught when the guy holding Sam's head suddenly spoke up.

"I think he's calming down now."

Much to Dean's relief it appeared he was right, though Sam still looked terrible. His mouth gaped open as he struggled to pull air into his body and his face was almost bloodless, limbs still flailing about but with less urgency.

Dean found himself gently pushed aside by the paramedics and he stood by helplessly as his brother was quickly examined. An oxygen mask was strapped across Sam's pale face, an IV started, and in a whirl of activity Sam was lifted onto a stretcher and carried out to the waiting ambulance.

"Please, he's my brother. I need to go with him." Dean begged, fear edging its way up his spine.

"I'm sorry kid but there's no room." One of the paramedics glanced at him regretfully. He rattled off the name of the hospital and before Dean could blink the medic was gone, the ambulance speeding its way through the main street.

Pulling out his cell phone with shaky hands Dean called his father.

"Dad, something's happened to Sam…I don't know what, but it's bad."

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"How long's it been now?" Dean was pacing again and it was driving his father crazy.

"Dean sit down and no more coffee." John growled. Though he couldn't in all honesty blame the kid. By the time they'd arrived at the hospital Sam had already been whisked away for treatment and a barrage of tests and scans, and that was hours ago.

"Sorry Dad, but…I just keep seeing him in my head…Sammy... Never seen anything like it before," Dean leaned his elbows on his knees and covered his face with his hands tiredly.

John reached out and grasped hold of the nape of Dean's neck, offering comfort. To everyone in the waiting room John was a concerned father, keeping his oldest son calm. But on the inside he was screaming _how could I have let this happen?_

"Mr Hamilton? We need to talk."

Dean and John glanced up at a tall middle aged guy in a white coat. His name tag read 'Dr Mitchell' and there was a glimpse of concern and sympathy on his otherwise impassive face.

"If you would care to step into my office." The softly spoken doctor lead the way to a paper strewn room lined with filing cabinets, and vast shelves high up on the walls crammed full of medical text books and journals. Once everyone was seated the doctor cleared his throat and smiled respectfully. "I'm the consultant neurologist here. Please excuse the mess; I'm just borrowing this office for the time being." Aware of the barely concealed impatience in the two men, he got straight to the point. "I was called in to examine Sam after he was admitted to the ER with severe convulsions; we've since run a series of tests to try to get to the bottom of it, but I do have a few questions for you. I spoke to Sam briefly after he woke up." He paused before delivering gently "are you aware of his head injury?"

John stared at the doctor in shock.

"What?!" Dean, of course, had to be more vocal. "What head injury?" He turned to his father. "Sam never said anything to me; why would he hide it?"

"Dean calm down." John murmured, and then to the consultant he added "No, he never mentioned it. But I have to admit that he's been acting pretty strange since last night."

The doctor seemed interested. "Do go on."

John scratched his head. "He's been moody, I mean moodier than usual." He let loose a small laugh. "He's a teenager right?" Dr Mitchell smiled his agreement at that. "But…I don't know. He's been vague, not paying attention, and he's barely talking to us."

Dean threw his father a slightly incredulous look. It was unlike John to be so forthcoming with the facts. Leastways not without the thumbscrews being applied.

John ignored him; he wanted to hear what the doctor had to say.

Dr Mitchell nodded, satisfied with the answer. "Sam told me that he slipped down some steps in the park yesterday evening and hit his head on a stone wall. He has a slight concussion which may account for his behaviour, but the seizure is a slightly different matter." Dr Mitchell stared John straight in the eye. "Is there any history of epilepsy in your family?"

John stared back at him, and answered honestly, heart sinking. "The boys' grandfather had it. On their mother's side."

As he heard Dean stifle a surprised gasp the doctor nodded again, fully expecting the answer. "As I said, I have spoken with Sam…"

Dr Mitchell hid his guilt well at this stage.

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Sam gazed at the doctor in horrified shock.

"But…I can't be."

"I'm sorry son, but it's true." And Dr Mitchell couldn't help but feel bad for the poor kid. He looked like a frightened dear caught in the headlights.

"No….please….run some more tests. It's gotta be something else." Sam whispered desperately, eyes filling with tears. He could feel panic rising in his chest and he started hyperventilating. He couldn't _believe_ this.

"Easy Sam." The doctor refastened the oxygen mask across his patient's face. "You'll pass out if you don't calm down. Nice slow breaths. Don't need another seizure at this stage. Right?"

Sam tried hard to comply but his mind was racing. The concussion he wasn't altogether surprised at, even though he'd checked his pupils a few times. Ok, so he hadn't been totally out but he had knocked his head pretty hard.

But…_epilepsy?_

No. Oh God no.

He realised the doctor was still talking to him and tried to concentrate on what he was saying.

"…anticonvulsant therapy. We made need to try a few different types to find what best suits you, but eventually we may be able to bring your treatment down to just one." He'd already written out the prescription for the drugs, and he left it sitting on Sam's night stand. "I'll get your dad to fill this out at the hospital pharmacy when you're released. But in the meantime, we have you on IV drugs, and we'll take a closer look at letting you go when that concussion's cleared up."

"Sam? You ok? I know this has come as a shock, but it'll get better. Plenty of people suffer from epilepsy and lead relatively normal lives."

Sam smiled weakly and nodded. _Bet they aren't hunters though. Great way to get my family killed; go into status epilepticus just when Dean and Dad need me to watch their backs_. He thought miserably. _The spooks will be lining up round the damn block for a glimpse of __**that **__show._

Dr Mitchell was watching him worriedly. "I have to go speak with your family, Sam. Then they'll be right in, ok? They've been waiting for hours to see you so I'd hate to think what state the waiting room will be in." Doctor Mitchell got to his feet smiling.

Sam suddenly looked frightened at the mention of his brother and father. _"Please don't tell them," _it came out so fast and desperate that the doctor looked surprised.

"Sam…"

"_Please._" Sam fixed him with the puppy dog eyes and the doctor smiled sadly.

"Your father needs to know, I'm sorry son. You're a minor so my hands are tied."

Sam sighed resignedly; no way he was getting away with his latest failure then. "Ok. But…can you tell them I'm asleepor something? I'm just not ready to see them yet."

Dr Mitchell gently grasped his shoulder and nodded. The kid needed some time to think about all this and he could understand that. It was a huge shock. "Alright, I'll grant you a brief reprieve from your extremely worried kin." He smiled. "Epilepsy is nothing to be ashamed of, Sam. You'll soon adapt."

As he watched the doctor leave the room, Sam couldn't help but feel a mix of relief from not having to see his brother and father, and sadness because he really did feel so scared and alone.

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"I don't get it." Dean huffed out "How can he suddenly wake up one morning with epilepsy?"

"He was already susceptible to it, but the head injury may well have been the trigger." The doctor shrugged. "Just one knock too many, coupled with going through puberty perhaps…"

"Can we see him now?" John asked, face and voice neutral.

"I'm sorry but your son is still asleep and I don't really want to subject him to visitors until he's ready. Sam was a little overwhelmed by the diagnosis and had a minor anxiety attack." Dr Mitchell raised a hand to fend off the arguments he could see brewing on their faces, and silently congratulated himself on the smooth lie. He got the feeling these guys didn't often fall for bullshit. "Go get something to eat, maybe get some rest and relax. Sam is in no danger now he's on anticonvulsants to keep him stable. Come back in a few hours when he's awake."

Dean fully expected his father to argue, but John just nodded in agreement. "Come on Dean. Let's go sample the joys of canteen food." Grasping Dean's arm, he led him from the office and out of sight of the consultant.

"Dad what the hell?" Dean began, immediately rounding on his father.

"Button it!" John ordered, and Dean clamped his mouth shut. "The doc's right; Sam's had a nasty shock and the fact that he's sleeping right now is a good thing."

Dean clenched and unclenched his jaw repeatedly and John could see the inner war raging. He wanted to go to his brother but was unwilling to disobey a direct order.

But then _John hadn't witnessed Sam's violent fit, felt helpless to stop it,_ and Dean could almost _feel_ how scared his kid brother was right now, even through the walls.

He was just about to capitulate when he caught sight of a familiar figure through the double doors onto the ward.

"Sam?"

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Sam stared out the window of his room and tried to stay calm, but the feelings of despair and panic just wouldn't leave him be. He couldn't face his family now, not after this.

He didn't think he could withstand their expressions of disapproval, the fact that his major screw up the night before had bigger consequences than he'd ever imagined, and the next time could get someone killed.

His father's words rang deep into his troubled mind. So much shame seemed to weigh on his shoulders that it was becoming unbearable; he needed to get out. How could he stay with his family now, when he was so damn worthless? Trouble was he didn't think he could live without them. Especially not Dean.

Decision made, Sam threw back the covers and gingerly climbed out of bed. He knew what he had to do, what he probably should've done _before_ last night's fiasco and maybe Dean wouldn't have gotten hurt.

He'd already been a pain in the ass; he wasn't gonna stick around to be a liability on top of it.

Finding his clothes folded neatly in the chest of drawers under the window; he quickly changed out of his hospital gown, slid into his boots, crept to the nightstand and snatched up the prescription. Sam listened out for the sound of people passing by, and when it went quiet he slipped from the room. Glancing both ways up and down the hall, looking for a discreet way out, his gaze was drawn to the glass of the double doors.

Dean was staring right at him, eyes wide in surprise. He felt pretty sure Dean mouthed his name, but it didn't matter as panic once again swept over him.

Sam turned and ran like hell.

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As soon as he saw Sam, he felt relief. The kid still looked pale but at least he was awake and on his feet. But the stricken expression that assailed his little brother's face shot additional warning signals through Dean. And he knew.

A split second before Sam bolted like a frightened colt, Dean _knew_, and he was already running, barging through the double doors on to the ward.

"Sam!" He saw his brother disappear through the emergency exit and followed suit. Sam's long legs were carrying him down the stairwell at one hell of a lick, and Dean struggled to keep up. "Sammy wait!"

Sam was out of sight by the time Dean arrived at the bottom, but the emergency door was swinging in the breeze and he burst out of the building just catching a glimpse of his brother's back before he rounded the block. But by the time he reached the street, Sam was gone.

"Sammy where are you?" Dean whispered, terrified for his brother's well being.

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Sam smiled grimly as he handed over his money. He had just enough to get the prescription filled and now he was completely broke. On leaving the store, he made it another few blocks before he came out at the riverside, and virtually collapsed from exhaustion, his head pounding. Tears still streamed down his face from hearing Dean desperately calling out, begging him to stop.

_I'm doing this for you, Dean. You and Dad._

Sam stumbled alongside the water for a about a mile until he found a concrete bridge. It over hung a footpath running along the banks of the river, providing a small dark shelter hidden from prying eyes. He'd expected it to be occupied by the homeless, but although there were still signs it had been used as such, Sam was thankful it was clear. He slumped against the wall, slid down and wrapped his arms round his knees.

Finally the sobs broke free as Sam sat shivering in the cold.

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"Yelling at me isn't going to help find your son, and believe me with the state he's in _that _should beyour priority right now!" Dr Mitchell squared up to John _Hamilton._

John stared at him. "What's that supposed to mean? He's alright aint he?"

"He has a concussion, he's just been diagnosed with a pretty major disorder, and it's damn cold out." The doctor was almost nose to nose with John. "What do _you_ think? Please tell me; _I'm all ears_." Those last three words were hissed in the doctor's first real show of anger.

John had to reluctantly admit it wasn't exactly the consultant's fault and he had an equally reluctant respect building for the bastard. The nurses should have been keeping a better eye out, but then Sam was highly trained in escape and evade so it was unlikely they could have stopped him. Dean was out looking right now, had been for hours in fact. His oldest son had refused to answer his phone after John's fifth attempt to rein him in, and John was worried that by the end of the day he'd have _two_ missing sons.

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Sam took out the anticonvulsants and stared at them for a long time. Two containers of tiny pills that would forever rule his life. And he couldn't, he just _couldn't_.

He shook one out and balanced it in the palm of his hand, summoning what little was left of his waning courage. If Sam was no longer around to screw things up then at least Dean and his father stood a chance.

Tipping his hand to his mouth, he dry swallowed the pill, then shook out another, and another, until both containers were empty. He rested his head back against the stone bridge, tears rolling slowly down his face, and waited for oblivion..._and peace._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean continued his desperate search, scouring the streets, showing a recent photo of his little brother to anyone who would stop for long enough and take pity on him. He must have been through half the neighbourhood by now and still no sign of Sam, and it was time to widen the search. Exhausted and scared, Dean finally rested against the railings of the bridge, head hung down low, facing the water.

"Come on Sammy, please. Where are you?"

The temperature was dropping as the day wore on, evening not far off, and Dean wondered if it was too late. He was pretty sure what his brother had in mind, what he was going to do, and that hurt so damn bad it was like a knife in to his heart. Trudging off the bridge he swore angrily when it started to rain. It was coming down in torrents and Dean was soaked to the skin in seconds. Barely able to see a hand in front of his face Dean had to admit defeat for now, and glanced around for somewhere dry to stand under.

That's when he spotted the overhang, a small path leading under the bridge along the river bank; it was the perfect place to take shelter.

Scrambling down the bank and ducking underneath, he felt instant relief from the cold pummelling of the rain storm. Dean brushed himself off and stamped his feet to get rid of the excess water, hoping like hell that Sam had managed to find somewhere safe and dry, but when he turned and saw the dark figure huddled against the wall his heart jumped. Instinct had Dean stumbling over and calling out his name.

"Sam!" Dean grabbed his shoulders, giving them a gentle shake. His eyes swept over Sam in the dark, looking for sign of injury but came up with nothing. "Sammy? Can ya hear me?"

Running his hands down Sam's body and checking his vitals Dean grew even more concerned at his brother's laboured breathing, not to mention that he still wouldn't wake up. Was it another seizure? The concussion?

His frantic thoughts ground to a halt when his fingers grasped at something in Sam's pocket. Two round, light weight cylinders. Pulling a tiny maglite from inside his jacket pocket Dean gasped at what he found. The two cylinders were containers for prescription anticonvulsants, the name Sam Hamilton printed on the labels.

And they were both empty.

"Oh shit! _Oh shit Sam!_" Dean had known deep down just how far Sam would go, but it still came as a one hell of a shock, and a part of him had hoped he was wrong. Cell phone out once more, he placed a 911 call then followed it up with a call to his father. Ignoring the questions, and hanging up as soon as he'd explained, he set about placing Sam in the recovery position. Covering his little brother with his jacket, Dean kept two fingers on the pulse at Sam's neck and kept checking his breathing.

It seemed like a long and hellish wait, in which he could swear Sam was getting weaker.

"Please kiddo; just hold on a little longer for me. We can work this out, Sammy, I promise." Dean begged and pleaded until he could swear he was blue in the face, but he could still feel his little brother slipping away.

"Hello? Anybody home?"

Dean recognised the voice of the same paramedic from earlier that day. "Over here. Hurry; he's running out of time!" After handing over the empty pill containers, he backed away to let them work on his brother, but listened intently to what they were saying.

"Dean?" A deep gruff voice by his ear startled him and Dean turned to face his extremely worried father; John must have followed the ambulance in. "How's he doin'? You didn't say much on the phone."

Dean bowed his head for a moment, eyes tightly closed before he answered softly. "Sammy took an overdose."

"What?!" His father staggered backwards as if the words had physically hit him. Dean just nodded as he watched his baby brother being intubated. He knew what that felt like, waking up with a thick tube wedged in your throat, remembered the blatant panic of not being able to breathe. He felt that panic rise again but this time it was for Sam, as the EMTs secured him to a collapsible stretcher for the second time that day.

"What did he take?" John frowned deeply at the sight of his youngest son so still and pale, unable to breathe on his own.

"He must have taken the prescription Dr Mitchell wrote out for him, went to a pharmacy somewhere…" He didn't need to finish the sentence. John pretty much got the gist.

"Oh Sammy, kiddo…" John whispered as Sam was wheeled swiftly to the ambulance. The sirens blared out just as the rear doors slammed shut, and whisked Sam back to the hospital, a black Chevy Impala following on almost bumper to bumper.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The older Winchesters were in for another long wait once the ambulance pulled up outside the hospital. They didn't even get a chance to see Sam once he was lifted out the back, since he was instantly surrounded by doctors, nurses and, of course, the neurology consultant Dr Mitchell.

Dean was shaking with the cold; his drenched clothes clinging to his body like a second skin, and John pushed him into a seat and pressed a steaming cup of sweet tea into his hand, ordering his son to drink it. He knew full well it wasn't just the cold; Dean was in shock, and grieving deeply over his brother's drastic actions. Even the warm blanket a pretty young nurse tucked round Dean's shoulders didn't ease the shivering and he barely noticed anything going on around him. His gaze was fixed on the double doors to the ER and nothing John could do or threaten would pry him away.

The silence became suffocating to John, but it was suddenly broken by Dean of all people.

"I'm so damn mad at him I can hardly think straight Dad." Dean whispered.

After a pause, John scrubbed a weary hand over his face. "Yeah, I know how you feel son."

"Why? Why would he do this?" But Dean already knew the answer, and all he needed was his father to spell it out.

"Isn't it obvious?" John muttered softly. "He must've felt so damn worthless, and _I_ did that to him. I pushed him too far. Christ!" He got to his feet and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. "I didn't even know he was hurt. I _should've_ known; all the signs were there."

If Dean was surprised at this sudden bout of introspection from his father he didn't show it. "You were worried about me, and I was in too much pain to notice. We got sidetracked, and angry, and we didn't even think about what we were doing to him. He made a mistake and _we _made his life a misery for it. Hell, I even locked him outta the bedroom without even _thinking_ how he might take it. Neither of us wondered about what happened to him when that bitch attacked."

Another long silence followed and John could almost feel the cogs turning in Dean's brain.

"We can't get angry with him when we go in there Dad, no matter how we might feel. That's the last thing he needs and it might push him back over the edge." John dropped his gaze from the ceiling to stare into haunted green eyes. "This epilepsy is life changing stuff for Sam, and we need to figure out how we're gonna help him, make sure he knows he's not alone."

John nodded and managed a small smile at his son's perceptiveness, and his own past insensitivity. "Yeah, and no judgin' him either right? I hear ya Teach."

Dean offered a small smile in response.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam lifted his eyelids gradually, but slammed them closed again when he realised who was in the room. He tried to even out his breathing back to a sleeping pattern, but a familiar voice made itself known.

"I know you're awake, Sammy please don't shut me out."

After some deliberation, Sam finally cracked open his eyes and stared at his brother's left ear. Still he said nothing.

"Please just tell me..." Dean's voice trailed off, waiting, hoping.

It took so long that Dean wondered if his little brother was catatonic. But finally he got an answer. And it hurt just like it should have done.

"If I hadn't been there that night you wouldn't have been hurt; I'm such a waste of space. Always have been, don't fit in, not even with my own family."

Sam fell silent for so long after that Dean managed to get time to recover. But the _little waste of space_ wasn't done yet.

"I thought it would all work out, I really did. Can't believe I fell for it. Thought I'd one day be invited into the Winchester family with welcome arms for just being _me._ Thought I could show that I had other strengths..." Sam lowered a cynical gaze to his bed covers. "...but when that didn't happen and I knew it wasn't _ever_ going to happen..."

Dean was shocked into silence once more, and John, who was waiting in the background by the door, suddenly felt rather sick.

Sam appeared to want to say more, but when he shut down and lapsed into an exhausted sleep, Dean was a little relieved. The truth hurts after all. Instead of embracing Sam's uniqueness that was so a part of their family, that had more often than not proven useful to a hunt, they'd lost sight of who Sam was. His role in the family was important to Sam and they'd made light of it, and disrespectfully so. And Dean couldn't in all honesty lay all the blame with their father.

_I'm just as responsible._

And when he glanced at their Dad he saw the same in his eyes.

John Winchester nodded slowly but with the kind of resolve normally found on the Captain of the Enterprise; stubborn, unyielding, _I don't give up on my crew._

_We work this out. No matter what it costs, we fix this for Sam._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Sam was still quiet; Dean noted worriedly after their father gave the brother's some time alone. Sam wasn't going to make it easy on them. And he shouldn't.

"Sam?"

"I'm here."

"I'm sorry Sam, but there's something we need to talk about."

He realised he missed his little brother's constant questioning, which he and John suddenly saw for what it was. Sam didn't like to leave any stone unturned, wanted to explore every opportunity. It was his nature, and vastly important to Sam because it kept his family safe in his own way. John was worried that he'd fucked up so bad this time Sam would never truly come back to them. Dean had other ideas.

"Sammy, if you hadn't been there that night," Dean stuttered, still scared beyond belief. "I wouldn't be here right now. You ever think about that? Dad couldn't get out of that damn grave fast enough and I was stuck. Don't you see it? We couldn't have done it without you. I'm so sorry we never let you in kiddo."

He was wrong. His little brother took mercy on him and as usual read his mind.

"You've nothing to be sorry for; you're my big brother." Sam smiled slightly. "You're bound to fuck up from time to time."

And Dean snorted. He just wanted his little brother back, and for once someone had actually answered his prayer.

Of _course _he was wrong...

_This_ time...

Because, being the Winchesters, life was about to get interesting yet again.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Authors notes:**_

_**Please don't look for serious medical facts within this fic because there really aren't any. I have purely twisted it to the advantage of the story. Also, I'm not epileptic and do not profess to know anything about being one, and **_**most **_**of all do not wish to imply that epileptic's are suicidal or depressive in any way. Again, it's just the story at work.**_

_**Kind regards,**_

_**ST.xxx.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Consequences Chapter 2**

_**Due to popular demand I spent at least some of my 2 weeks holiday lounging by the pool and writing this out by hand. Said hand is currently under protest for the constant cramp, my head hurts from the constant re-reading and re-writing of the chapter, and I just know I'm gonna have a bad case of eye-strain by the time I've finished typing this up and have it posted.**_

_**All I can say is that I hope you guys aren't too disappointed with the result, and I equally hope you don't find it too confusing; I've tried to get the perspectives of all three Winchesters as smoothly as possible.**_

_**As a result, I may have just cocked it right up, but I'll let you be the judge.**_

_**Just remember: I am a sensitive soul so please be nice 'cos I'm not entirely sure what I'm talking about.**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**1 week later...**_

Sam sat down heavily on his bed and sighed. In spite of the talk Dean had with him shortly after waking up things were still a little tense between them. His latest outpatient appointment hadn't helped, even given the doctor's optimistic outlook, and Sam couldn't quite understand it. After all, it wasn't like he was terminally ill or anything, just more vulnerable than ever before, which as far as Dean was concerned was a red rag to an already worked up bull.

Once released from hospital, Dean refused to let his brother out of his sight, constantly hovering, asking Sam if he needed anything, if he felt ok, was he sleeping any better. When Sam opened the bathroom door one morning and found Dean leaning against the frame, the youngest Winchester felt his patience was close to cracking. Clearly his big brother had been listening through the door for any signs of distress, ready to burst in just in case Sam had another _episode_ and drowned in the bath. But Sam couldn't bring himself to call Dean on his behaviour, and not just because it felt nice to be cared for and protected, but because he knew his brother was still badly shaken by what Sam had done to himself.

John hadn't said much though Sam got the distinct impression he had plenty to say. His dad just smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder from time to time, as though he was having trouble putting his thoughts into words. Sam could only guess at what was going through his father's mind and he was pretty certain that disappointment was a big part of it.

"Brought ya somthin' to eat."

Sam was startled by the sudden break in silence and glanced up. _Speak of the devil..._

John's expression was unreadable as he crossed the threshold holding out a plate of plain toast.

"Just somethin' light; I know your stomach's still a little sore..." he trailed off before mentioning stomach pumps when Sam just stared at him sadly. _What's going through that messed up head of yours kid?_ He was dying to ask but he wasn't sure Sam would answer him honestly; there were some strong trust issues hanging between them and John just didn't know how to fix it. He knew he deserved it; he'd let Sam down badly and now he had to soldier on and hope to win him back.

When Sam made no move for the toast John smothered a sigh.

"Come on son, you've hardly eaten anything these last few days." He grasped Sam's wrist and gently rubbed his thumb over the bones jutting through; this was worrying. His youngest son could ill afford to lose any more weight. "You don't wanna get sick again right?" John hoped using reason and a softer than usual approach would work, but clearly Sam had other ideas.

"I'm not very hungry." Sam's gaze dropped to his hands, fiddling nervously in his lap. "Sorry Dad," he mumbled softly. He felt the bed dip as his father sat down next to him, releasing his hold.

"You've nothing to be sorry for Sam." There came that fatherly shoulder squeeze again. "If anyone should be apologising here it's me. I pushed you too hard, missed your parent's night when I knew how important it was to ya, and to top it all off I was too damn busy blaming you for a hunt gone bad to notice you were seriously injured."

Tears sprang unexpectedly to Sam's eyes as he shook his head. "No. You were right the first time Dad. I wasn't concentrating and the ghost nearly killed Dean. I screwed up, plain and simple. And I'll never forgive myself for it." His voice gave out as the silent sobs shook his thin frame.

John could feel Sam's self-disgust and shame, and it made him hate himself all the more. To Sam's amazement, John snaked an arm round his shoulder and pulled him into a tight hug.

"I guess we both dropped the ball on this one, kid." He rested his chin gently on his youngest son's head. "But the fact is... it's _my_ job to watch out for you both and I failed. Big time. I had no right to hold you responsible for what happened. And like I said before, if you hadn't reacted when you did, your brother would have died. I'm the so-called adult here; I shoulda known better."

They both stayed silent and still for a few moments whilst John let that sink in. But he had a point to make, one he had to make Sam understand. He drew back, grasping Sam's upper arms tight enough to leave bruises and gave him a small shake.

"But nothing, _nothing_ justifies taking your own life, Sammy. You hearin' me kid?" A hint of desperation crept into his voice and Sam's amazement grew when he saw tears sparkling in his father's eyes to match his own. "We nearly lost you son. Promise me you won't ever try that again, that you'll talk to us first if things get that bad for you. I know you probably don't feel you can turn to us for help, but you _can_ Sammy. Just don't ever do that again, son. Please, promise me..."

John stared at him, almost pleading. He'd had the misfortune to witness a couple of Sam's fits since he left the hospital and sure enough it had scared the hell out of him, but _nothing_ compared to seeing his son lying unconscious and on a respirator after attempting suicide. _Nothing_ should have made Sam that desperate, and John swore to himself that it wouldn't happen again. He just wished he'd found the words earlier.

Sam had never heard his father sound like this before, never seen that lost expression on his face; he searched John's eyes, found nothing but absolute honesty and slowly nodded. "I promise Dad," he whispered back.

John smiled and raised a hand to rest against the side of Sam's head, gently brushing the soft too-long fringe back behind his ear.

"No matter what it takes, we'll help you get a handle on your epilepsy. In fact, your neurologist told me there's a good chance that once you hit on the right drugs it could be years before you have another seizure, if at all."

Sam merely nodded again, obviously not completely convinced. "Yeah, may be." He murmured, eyes once again fixed on the carpet.

"Hey," John cupped Sam's jaw, turned and tilted his head upwards to meet his gaze. "Have a little faith. And remember, you aint in this alone now."

"Damn straight he's not!" Dean announced from the doorway suddenly, face stern and eyes almost burning into Sam's. "Now eat your toast," he softened a little on seeing how confused and worried his little brother obviously felt. "It'll be ok Sam, but you need to eat kiddo."

Sam nodded slowly once more and reached out to the offered plate.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean sighed with relief at seeing his kid brother finally eating something. It had been a long week for all three Winchesters, with Sam going into another seizure the moment they brought him home. Fortunately it was relatively mild compared to the first one and didn't last long, though John was tempted to take him straight back to the hospital.

Dean was more than aware of the some of the freaky shit his father had seen over the years but witnessing his youngest son in an epileptic fit for the first time had truly shaken him. John had locked himself away in his bedroom for the rest of the night whilst Dean kept a close eye on Sam. Not wishing to jump the gun, they held off and waited to see how Sam felt when he woke up.

He had thankfully recovered well after a few hours sleep, but it still begged the question about the anticonvulsants he'd been prescribed, because another far more ferocious fit less than twenty four hours later soon snapped John out of his self-pity, and a barely conscious Sam was returned to the ER for a full examination by the neurologist. The result had been a complete change in medication and another whole host of reassurances that Sam's condition could be brought under control. It was just a question of time and a lot of patience.

But Dean was worried about far more than just the epilepsy, though that was something plenty big enough to be going on with. Sam seemed so despondent of late, not that Dean could blame him given what the kid's own family had done to him. But these latest seizures had really left Sam..._broken._ It was the only way Dean could describe it, and it was scaring the shit out of him. The very last thing he wanted was to come home one day and experience another desperate search for his little brother, only to find him dying alone in some crap hole purely because he felt there was no other way out.

No. It couldn't happen again. Not to his Sammy. Dean was determined to do his job right this time and if that meant getting into the deep and meaningfuls with their father then so be it. In fact, once he'd addressed his concerns over Sam it became immediately apparent to Dean that John hadn't really spoken to the kid about all this. And that in itself would have led to one bitch of a fight if Sam hadn't been grabbing some much needed sleep in the next room. After a silent yet fierce staring match, John soon realised what a prick he'd been, took his oldest son's words to heart, and headed off to the kitchen to fix some toast, just as Dean heard his brother wake up and head off to take a quick shower. Back in guard dog mode, Dean had waited outside the bathroom just in case Sam needed him, and hid a small smile at the incredulous look on Sam's face when he finally finished and opened the door to find his big brother looming over him.

Dean had smiled softly on hearing his father's muted conversation with Sam, his brother finally responding. John wasn't a bad parent, Dean had thought on more than one occasion, but he was often blind to what was going on right under his nose and needed a jolt from time to time to remind him that trouble wasn't always supernatural, and as such could usually be found right on their own doorstep.

Dean listened in again, frowning a little. Judging by the tone of Sam's voice they still had a way to go, and Dean was determined to help him through it. Now that John was finally up to speed the three of them could pull together as one supporting unit, and maybe Sam would learn to see himself as an important part of the family because Dean was taking every opportunity to point it out to him; or as Sam would say, _ramming it down his throat every minute of the damn day._

Watching his little brother from the bedroom doorway as he chewed slowly on the now cold toast, Dean couldn't help the pang of guilt hit him again. Sam, broken hearted that their father cared more about the hunt than his youngest son's well being, had ultimately saved Dean's life and received a life-altering condition in exchange. That sure was one hell of a 'thank you' for his trouble.

Moving into the bedroom, Dean sat down next to Sam so the youngest found himself in the centre of a protective wall of Winchesters.

"You ok Sam?" His voice was soft but the expression on Dean's face just dared Sam to lie to him.

"I...I don't know." Sam answered in a small voice. He dropped the unfinished toast back on the plate and stared out the bedroom window. "I'm scared," he now whispered. "I just don't know what to do or say."

Dean's heart clenched at the sad, lost look on his kid brother's face. Sam took a shaky breath, stood up and turned to face his family. "What happens now? I mean, I'm no use to you now right?" The dull gleam in his eyes was begging John and Dean to deny it. "I'm just more of a liability than ever before."

"Son, sit down." John ordered softly. When Sam hesitated, he added "Please," much to both boys' surprise. "Sure we're gonna have to make a few changes to how we work." John continued when Sam sat down on the opposite bed this time. "But let's take this one day at a time, ok? No more hunts for any of us until you're feeling better about all this." He held his hand up palm outwards when Sam opened his mouth to protest. "We will _all_ attend your check ups, learn as much as we can about your medication, how to spot the early signs of a seizure, and discuss what you feel could be the triggers. We already know that flickering fluorescent lights, and by default probably strobe lights, can start one off. As can stress and exhaustion." His gaze was pointed this time.

How could Sam forget? The store's faulty overhead light had triggered his first seizure, and on being released from the hospital after the overdose Sam, feeling ashamed and lost, had panicked at the thought of facing the outside world, hence the second seizure. The third fit had been brought on after Sam refused sleep in order to catch up on all the school work he'd missed whilst in hospital. Looking back, even Sam had to grudgingly admit he'd been pretty stupid; but he'd been trying to escape and ignore what was happening to him, and his body had rebelled fiercely at the abuse.

Tugging a hand through his unruly hair and taking a deep breath, Sam gazed at his family, feeling a small spark of hope at the blatant concern and affection reflecting back.

"Ok." He nodded, a small smile forming.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Six months and a few weeks later...**_

"Sam, drink some more water." Dean's tone brooked no argument as he mock-glared at his little brother.

Sam sighed, dropped his back pack and sat down on a rock. "I drink anymore and I'll be peeing every five minutes," he complained good- naturedly, but grabbed the bottle from Dean's hand and took a swig anyway.

It was a hot day, not a cloud in the sky and the brothers were resting in the cooling shade of a cluster of thick pines after a long, exhausting but altogether pleasant hike. John was out of town on a hunt with Bobby Singer, and the boys were making use of their time to celebrate Sam's sixth months of being seizure-free. They'd finally hit on an AED, or anti-epileptic drug as Sam's consultant explained, that helped him stay in control, though there were a few shaky starts when Sam forgot to take his medication from time to time and ended up seizing on the floor of the classroom, laboratory and gym respectively; usually with the teacher panicking and sending one of the other students out to find Dean; his big brother was the only one Sam would allow anywhere near him after a fit, such was Sam's hate for being so out of control.

Dean didn't think he'd ever get use to seeing his brother in an epileptic seizure, or the almost catatonic state he went into during the aftermath. It never got easier to bear; in fact sometimes he found that it scared him more and more. He had no control over it, he couldn't stop it; all he could do for Sam once it started was to make sure his environment was safe – no electrical wires, water he could drown in or furniture he could hurt himself on - keep his head from cracking the floor in time with the convulsions, and let him ride it out. Once the fit was over, Dean would hold him close, check his heart rate and breathing, and generally keep him calm and safe until the ambulance arrived.

Their Dad hadn't originally planned to go on the hunt but Bobby had desperately needed the help, so on Dean's reassurance that he'd keep an eye on Sam, John had almost reluctantly agreed.

_Almost_ reluctantly.

Dean could easily detect the gleam in his father's eye; that need for the hunt, the chase, the _kill_. He couldn't blame him for it really, after all there was a part of Dean that wanted to join their Dad but there was no way he was leaving Sam's side. And that had nothing to do with being a baby sitter but everything to do with being more scared for Sam than for John. In Dean's eyes, Sam would always come first because that was the way he'd been raised, but even more so now. Sure, he'd fucked up big time sixth months ago but he'd been slowly making things right ever since.

Sam had tried his best to hide the guilt. He knew his epilepsy was holding Dean back and he hated himself for it. As always, his older brother proved way too astute to miss it.

"Six more months Sammy," Dean repeated the mantra quietly, "and we're both back on the job. That's good enough for me." And he meant it, and that was the agreement. One full year without an epileptic fit and Sam was good to go.

Sam scratched his neck, head bent self-consciously. "Yeah I know," he stopped, unwilling to sound like an ungrateful, whiny brat, and caught a peek at the soft smile on his brother's face.

"It'll soon go kid. But in the meantime," Dean got to his feet, shook out the contents of his back pack and laughed at the sudden wide-eyed expression on Sam's face when he spotted the packed dome tent. "Let's get our camp set up for the night, maybe go fishing before sundown and chill out for the rest of the evening."

"Camping out? Really?" Sam smiled excitedly at Dean's nod and grin of confirmation.

Next came the discussion regarding where to pitch the tent. After some good natured squabbling, when Sam pointed out they'd come in full circle and were almost back at the car, the brothers decided to head on back to their starting point; there was a lake right by the car that the boys could wash up and clean off the day's grime before hitting the sack. With some light ribbing from Sam about Dean's questionable map reading abilities, hotly protested by the older Winchester of course, they got stuck into the task of setting up camp. Neither of them mentioned that Dean had deliberately headed back to the start. Sam knew what he'd done and though it angered him a little he couldn't bring himself to call his brother on it; Dean was just being his overprotective self as usual, and tonight Sam would come to appreciate it anew.

Sam was grinning broadly as he helped his older brother set up the tent. "Thought you hated camping."

"Nuh uh," Dean shook his head. "Said I hated camping with some big ugly-assed Wendigo moochin' round the trail. Tends to put a crimp on ya happy hour, know what I'm sayin'?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

_Yeah, like Dad let him take a chick on a hunt!_

"Yeah, I can see how that would spoil things," Sam responded instead with a wry chuckle and a slight blush, but it got him thinking.

Sam had been considered too young for that particular hunt so he was left with Pastor Jim for company. All he remembered of the night his family came home, exhausted and furious, was that Dean had been bleeding out through a bad gash in his thigh. The wound had been jagged and deep, the sight of raw flesh almost enough to send the most ardent and committed carnivore screaming for forgiveness and signing a sworn declaration that they'd never touch meat again.

One warning glance from his father and Sam had shut his mouth, grabbed the first aid kit and began cleaning and stitching. When he finally plucked up the courage to ask, once the wound was carefully wrapped, his father had uttered only one word.

_Wendigo..._

Later on, some surreptitious research on the internet, mainly Googling 'Wendigo' and discovering the details of some really crap horror movie, had Sam scared shitless just thinking how bad the situation could have become.

Sam knew that Dean still carried the scar with pride, particularly in the presence of young, big-breasted females who would gaze wide eyed at him as he boasted about his heroic efforts against a Great White. Sam would merely sit in the background nursing a soda snorting loudly from time to time and earning angry glares from his older brother.

But he still hadn't been told what really happened, and as he now sat with his brother by the lake, lines cast as far as possible, Sam's need to know once and for all reared its ugly head.

"Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"What exactly happened that night?"

"What?" Dean seemed genuinely confused and Sam realised that he'd been quiet for so long that his big brother had just been introduced half-way into an imaginary conversation.

"Um..." Sam hesitated at this point; John had never spoken about it, and even grew angry when pressed, so would Dean react any differently? "That hunt...for the Wendigo I mean," he bit his lip seconds before finally biting the bullet, "what happened?"

Dean frowned as he thought about it. "Not much more to tell. We underestimated what we were hunting, I got jumped, and Dad killed it with a flare gun. That's about it." Dean's answer was as blunt and straight to the point as always, but he slid a sidelong glance at his brother just before re-casting his line. "Why dya ask Sammy?"

Sam sighed. "Not sure really."

And Dean remained quiet, knowing his kid brother was building up to asking another question.

"Dean?"

_Here it comes._ Dean _heard_ Sam swallow nervously.

"Do you think Dad's ashamed of me, of my..._condition_?"

Dean blinked long and slow.

_Now there's a bolt way out of the fucking blue!_

Dean felt a sharp tug on his line, indicating their supper was due, and kept his voice calm, relaxed and neutral. "What makes you ask that?" He reeled in the catch as he waited for the answer.

"Dad hardly lets me see Bobby these days, or Caleb for that matter..." Sam's voice trailed off in poorly disguised defeat.

Dean thought long and hard about his response, knowing his brother not only deserved the truth but would see through any attempts to gloss it over. But he could soften the blow a little.

"He's not ashamed of you Sam, he just wants to give you the best chance at recovery," _He's worried you'll get yourself killed. _Dean fixed Sam with an honest gaze. "Dad thought that keeping you away from hunting for a year would be the answer, give you a chance to catch up with your school work." He smiled at the disbelief on Sam's face, noting the cynically raised eyebrows. "Yeah I know, sounds lame, but this is _Dad _we're talking about dude. He's only doing what he thinks is best for you. Stress avoidance remember? He's scared shitless for ya."

When Sam nodded uncertainly, Dean tried another track.

"Ya know this weekend hiking expedition was his idea?" Dean smiled when his brother shot him a surprised glance. "Well, not totally. The hike was _my_ idea but Dad suggested camping out over night. He thought you deserved a little fun after all the crap you've been through." _That was totally the truth,_ Dean thought proudly of their father.

"Really?" Sam asked softly as he turned his head away sharply, though not before Dean caught a glimpse of tears. He just felt relieved they were happy ones this time.

A small uncomfortable silence followed as Sam tried to come to terms with these revelations.

Dean smiled in sad remembrance of his own hormone-ridden puberty. He'd had it a lot easier than Sam, that was for damn sure.

"Ya see Sammy?" Dean offered quietly, then reached out and gently squeezed Sam's shoulder. "He's always thinking of you kiddo, even if it's a little skewed sometimes."

Sam nodded slowly and observed as his brother gutted and cleaned their supper.

"And besides," Dean continued as he worked and threw the fish guts aside for safe disposal later on. "He did say that once you reached the sixth month he'd let you help out with research again. Maybe even take part in some training sessions, provided you don't push yourself too hard." Dean smiled when Sam's eyes lit up.

The conversation turned on a pivot at this stage and the boys found themselves in deep discussion about 'Sam and the hunt', or as Dean put it 'the importance of being Sam'. But Dean didn't mind at all because they needed it.

It was strange, even Sam had to admit, that since being banned from hunting – though technically John had extended that to encompass all three of them - he'd taken a deeper interest, even mourned its loss and prayed every night that things would return to normal soon. At least, what was considered normal for the Winchesters. And all this despite having previously hated the 'family business' as it was so often referred to.

Dean's theory, which was stated with no malice or hidden agenda, had been simple: the epilepsy had taken away Sam's chance at being an equal to his father and brother, the chance to prove himself. Sam worried that he would never be whole again, never gain any respect, always doubted by the people he loved. But as Dean went on to explain, that _so_ wasn't the case. Just the opposite. The fact that Sam was willing to try, that he hadn't given up despite the obstacles along the way – the seizures, the change in medication, even the strange looks and avoidance from his classmates – and because of that fortitude and determination in the face of an extremely challenging sixth months? In Dean's eyes, that added up to one pretty amazing kid brother.

Sam once again hid his face by dropping his head, but Dean could see the faint blush creep up his neck. Heaving a quiet sigh of relief that he'd obviously said the right thing, Dean seasoned the fish a little more whilst pretending he hadn't seen the proud smile on his brother's face when he leaned over to grab some plastic plates and cutlery.

Pretty soon a delicious smell was wafting up Sam's nostrils and made his mouth water as the day's catch cooked slowly over the campfire. Dean grinned at the sound of his kid brother's stomach growling like an inpatient pup, and nudged him with an elbow.

"Hungry Sam?"

Sam smiled back shyly and folded his arms across his embarrassingly loud stomach. "Yeah I guess so."

Dean hid his relief well as he dished up their supper, watching as Sam reachd for a slice of bread to soak up the juices. When he first came out of hospital Sam appeared so pale and fragile that Dean feared he'd break like fine porcelain if he so much as breathed on him. Sam's poor appetite meant he was barely eating enough to function, and Dean was positive this additional stress had contributed to the seizures that followed.

But now Sam was back to the relatively normal teenage calorie intake, which loosely meant consuming the entire contents of the fridge, freezer and snack cupboard at any given opportunity. And he still barely gained any weight.

_Damn kid must have the metabolism of a dragster!_ Dean smiled at that thought, feeling only slightly envious.

Unlike his big brother however, Sam could often be seen tucking into a large portion of fresh vegetables along with a healthy steak, and Dean had lost count of the number of times Sam had smiled happily at him over the top of an enormous pile of fresh fruit first thing in the morning.

_Surely he was an orang-utan in a previous life! I mean, just look at all that hair!_

It was quickly becoming evident that Dean's baby brother was turning into a health food fanatic, and that was enough to set Dean's teeth permanently on edge. He'd always felt vaguely uncomfortable around vegetarians and anybody that believed in the low fat options, but Sam was one small step away from becoming a _natural yoghurt_ _eater_, and as far as Dean was concerned it was only a matter of time before he lost his brother to the _real_ dark side ..._organic foods. _Definately four letter word material in his view!

He refused to get sucked in and briefly considered fashioning a crucifix out of a T-bone for every time his brother came near him brandishing a particularly fresh piece of fruit or a low fat, no flavour candy bar. He was dreading the day that social pressure and the commercialisation of healthy eating lead to the rise of _low sugar M&Ms._

_No fucking way dude!_

Dean was determined to put a stop to this nonsense before Sam came to the conclusion that a loin cloth would be healthier than jeans - _perhaps because it let the air circulate? I dunno!_ - and living in a tree would not only be fun but more environmentally friendly than, say, a centrally heated apartment or motel room with pay-per-view.

He shuddered at the thought.

The boys ate in a comfortable silence whist Dean was waging this internal debate, and so felt rather surprised when Sam nudged him sharply in the ribs.

"Dean, those storm clouds sure moved in quick," Sam raised a concerned eyebrow as he pointed to the western sky out across the lake.

Sure enough, dark clouds heavy with rain had appeared from nowhere and begun crowding the once beautiful sunset, turning the oranges, turquoises and indigoes a muddy shade of reds and browns, reflecting in the oddly still water.

Even as he replied Dean didn't take his wary gaze of the spectacle before them. "Let's get packed up Sammy," he ordered quietly and because something about the evening had _changed_, making him feel distinctly uneasy, he added "I think we should sleep in the car tonight. Let's go, now!"

For once Sam didn't argue with him, just got to his feet and started gathering pots and pans to wash in the lake.

Dean could already feel the first spots of rain by the time he scrambled up the slope and reached the car, but when he turned back a wave of fear washed over him when he realised Sam wasn't immediately behind him. Something was happening out on the lake and a suddenly terrified Dean yelled for Sam to get a move on.

His little brother was crouched down by the water's edge, scrubbing at their dirty dinner plates and cutlery - _what the hell's he doing? _- Completely unaware of the strange, flickering being that quickly appeared out of the storm clouds. It's grey, misty form drifted silently across the water towards Sam and Dean's eyes widened with shock and fear.

_Where the hell did she come from?!_

For as she moved closer it became apparent that this was most definitely female. Or, at least, had been once upon a time. Given the darkness in her eyes Dean's first thought had been 'demon', but on now seeing her clearly his opinion was beginning to lean towards 'spirit', and a dangerous one at that.

"Sammy get back here!"

"Huh?" Sam's head shot up on hearing the panic in Dean's voice but before either brother could react, the ghost swept forward with stunning speed and enveloped the younger Winchester in her misty shrouds.

Then the rain well and truly hit, coming down in a deluge of almost monsoon proportions, and Dean was instantly soaked to the skin. But he barely noticed and wouldn't have cared anyhow.

"Sam!" Dean ran like hell towards his struggling brother and he almost made it, _would_ have made it.

Red lightning suddenly crackled through the grey mist and Dean caught sight of Sam's face. His expression was one of intense agony, mouth stretched open in a silent scream, his entire body jerking painfully, held prisoner by the spirit's power as it pulsed through him.

Dean's heart sank; he could see his little brother was weakening under the onslaught of electrical energy, the attack draining him unmercifully. Still struggling ever onwards to reach Sam before it was too late, Dean felt a surge of anger. His limbs were clumsy and slow, like fighting his way through thick treacle, and Dean just knew the bitch was somehow responsible for this, trying to stop him rescuing Sam.

"Sammy hold on!" He had no idea if Sam could hear him but he kept trying, "Keep fighting her Sam!"

It seemed as though the closer Dean got to his goal the further away she appeared, until he realised that the ghost was slowly pulling his brother deeper into the water, and Sam, whose unnaturally rigid body was already chest deep, was helpless to stop it. Dean could just make out the tears of pain, fear and frustration on Sam's face, and gathered all his strength to launch one final attack against whatever force was keeping him at bay. "Sammy!"

By the time he broke free, Sam had slipped beneath the surface of the water with barely a ripple. Dean roared in anguish and undiluted rage as the spirit let loose a deep evil laugh of satisfaction, then promptly winked out of existence taking the storm with her, the rain stopping immediately.

Dean stumbled, regained his footing then plunged into the lake, practically clawing his way through the water. He kept his eyes on the last spot he'd seen Sam, then dived under.

The fading evening light rendered the underworld gloomy, hindering Dean's frantic search. Pushing through the growing darkness, his lungs burning for air, eyes sweeping round, he finally spied a shadow drifting motionless against a backdrop of darker shadows and made one final push, legs kicking powerfully. Fabric brushed his hand and he caught hold of his brother in a desperate grip, dragging him upwards. On breaking the surface Dean gasped and spluttered, greedily sucking in much needed air as he pulled Sam's limp body back against him. Keeping one arm tight around Sam's chest, Dean used his remaining limbs to side-stroke to shore, trying hard to ignore the blue lips, damp hair plastered around Sam's too pale face, instead concentrating on getting his brother to safety and holding in the fear that threatened to emerge and swallow him whole.

On reaching the shore Dean slid an arm under Sam's knees and carried him up to the tent, their clothes sending up clouds of steam into the warm evening air. Sam's heart beat was thankfully strong and steady; Dean was just grateful it was beating _at all. _He hoisted Sam higher in his arms and muttered words of encouragement in his baby brother's ear as he trudged onwards.

_Its ok Sam, you're safe now..._

_Stay with me kiddo..._

_Everything's gonna be ok Sammy..._

_Can you hear me? Please wake up little bro..._

To his shock and relief, the instant he laid Sam out on his sleeping bag a flood of water gushed out of Sam's mouth and nose as he coughed violently, gasping and struggling to breathe. Dean flipped him gently on to his side still whispering reassurances, and rubbed soothing circles on his back.

"You with me Sammy?" Dean pleaded anxiously as he rearranged Sam's pliant arms and legs until he resided in the recovery position. "Come _on_ kid talk to me."

When he received no response he leaned over and wiped away droplets of water and damp hair to completely reveal Sam's face. Yes, he was still too pale but the blue tint to his lips was fading. Now it was just a question of when he would wake up.

Sam was shivering lightly and Dean reached out to touch his hand, gasping in shock.

"Shit Sam, you're freezin'!" He rummaged through the nearest back pack, not caring that it turned out to be his own, and pulled out some dry clothes.

Though Sam was fast catching up to Dean in height as his rather troubled puberty progressed, the clothes would be way too big for the skinny teenager; but Dean didn't waste time worrying about it and soon had his brother stripped of his cold wet clothes – _weird; I don't remember the water being that cold. Damn ghost!_ – dried off and re-dressed in Dean's old Black Sabbath T-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. Dean smirked at little as he grabbed at the dry sleeping bag – the one Sam hadn't vomited lake water on; the youngster looked ridiculous in his older brother's clothes, the T-shirt was several sizes too big and made him look like a coat hanger, and if he had any hope of walking around in those jeans he'd need to roll them up just to avoid tripping over.

Chuckling softly with relief and amusement, Dean manoeuvred his brother inside the sleeping bag, zipped it up and tightened the drawstring hood round his head.

"Alright Sam, let's get you to the car huh?" In the same manner as before Dean carried him to the rear seat of the Impala, carefully settling him inside, then reached over to switch on the ignition. Warm air soon jetted out of the vents as he angled them towards his unconscious brother, and he spent a few minutes knelt down in the foot well between the rear and front seats, just checking his breathing, pulse, and praying that he would wake up soon.

"Come on kid let me know you're ok. Please Sam."

Something in his voice must have filtered through because Sam's eyelids started fluttering, and he let out a small pained whimper.

"Sammy?" Dean placed a gentle hand on the side of his face. "You with me?"

"Dean? Wha hap'nd?" He slurred out once his eyes finally opened to reveal heavily bloodshot whites and dazed blue-green irises. As awareness seeped back in, Dean felt his anxiety lessen only for some other emotion to get a head start. And it wasn't a pleasant one.

Dean stared hard at him for a second, relief warring with the slowly growing anger. "What do you remember?"

Sam blinked a few times before finding the strength to answer.

"Washing plates, you...called to me...sounded scared..." he frowned and shifted uncomfortably. "Too hot..." Exhaustion weighed heavily on his eyelids once again but Sam valiantly tried to stay awake.

Dean said nothing as he unzipped the sleeping bag and untied the hood, but Sam could see a wealth of emotions in those green eyes, and chief amongst them was fear and anger.

"Dean? You ok?" Sam whispered sluggishly as his brother helped him shrug aside the thick material. Dean glanced away for a moment then returned a heated gaze.

"You almost got your ass handed to you by a ghost Sam," the gazed turned into a glare. "If I hadn't found you in time you would've drowned."

Sam felt instant remorse but still wasn't sure what he'd done wrong. He just _couldn't_ remember "Dean, I..."

"_This_ is what Dad got so mad about!" Dean's voice grew louder and he leaned over his brother. "Always questioning orders, not focussing on the dangers..." he shook his head and tried to calm down. "Next time I tell you to get to the car you drop what you're doing and _get to the godamned car Sam!_"

Dean regretted the overly harsh words when Sam's eyes filled with confusion and tears, and he slowly rolled his head to the side, hiding his face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly, "didn't know there was a ghost...m'useless, can't even go hiking with m'brother without screwin' up, shoulda left me to die..."

Dean closed his own eyes very briefly. _Shit, what I have done?_ "Sam..."

"Toldya...not good 'nough, never will be...why did you look for me? Ya coulda been free...drugs woulda finished it...m'so pathetic..."

"Sam that's enough!" Dean broke in fiercely, the mention of the overdose from sixth months ago just too much, but Sam didn't seem to notice and carried on whispering self-recriminations over and over.

Sam felt overwhelmed with grief and shame, a darkness filling him to the brink, scaring him, leading him onwards. He barely felt the hot tears rolling down his face as panic took over, panic of living; of existing..._he was coming apart at the seams._

"Sammy I said that's enough!" Dean gripped his shoulders, giving him a small shake. "You're not useless, ok? I'm sorry I shouted at you kiddo, but I was just so damned scared. You were dying...Sam?"

Dean's eyes widened with fear when Sam's head rolled bonelessly on his shoulders and he began hyperventilating, as though undergoing an extreme panic attack.

"Hey! Easy now, come on Sam breathe slowly!" _Jesus! Way to go Dean! The kid's probably in shock, doesn't remember what happened, and you yelled at him? What in hell's the matter with you? No wonder the poor kid's freaked!_

"Easy there, come on now, just relax. I promise I won't yell at you again. I'm sorry Sammy, it wasn't your fault, it was mine, you didn't know..."

Sam slowly brought his breathing back under control on hearing Dean's calm words and felt the panic releasing him. But he felt strange and didn't know how or what to tell his brother.

When Dean thought about it later, he would have described it as watching a silent switch being flipped in Sam's mind. One moment his little brother was gazing up at him sorrowfully, and the next...

_Click_

Sam's eyes rolled sharply back in his head and his body went from quiet and still to full on convulsions, limbs flailing helplessly, breath caught in his throat, mouth snapped shut and neatly slicing his tongue open. Blood and spittle dripped down his chin and a low strangled keening noise sounded from the back of his throat.

Dean launched himself forward, slid behind Sam in one movement and clamped his arms down, trying to still his brother's upper body. But one painful blow from the back of Sam's head against Dean's chin and he figured a change in tactics was needed. Scared half to death for the second time that evening, Dean quickly grasped hold of Sam's thin wrists together in one strong hand, pulling them downwards to rest against his brother's stomach, whilst he held the other to his forehead, pulling Sam's head back firmly, _tightly_, against his own shoulder. It was the only way he could stop Sam from hurting himself and help his breathing until he came up with a better plan, and the truth was this had to be the worst fit Dean had ever witnessed.

Fifteen minutes and no cell phone signal later, it proved to also be the longest.

_Oh God what have I done? Sammy I'm so sorry..._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

**Yeah, awful cliff hanger I know. But it seemed the best place to end it for now.**

**Again, I apologise to anyone who suffers from epilepsy and knows far more about it than me, but I promise you there is a reason behind all this as you will find out in the next chapter (if you haven't figured it out already). From what I understand about epilepsy, a seizure can last from a few minutes to over half an hour, depending on the severity, though I can imagine it must seem much longer to the sufferer and their carer, so I warn you that I will start to push the boundaries of reality with this one. (yeah, like I haven't already!)**

**No offense is meant towards epileptics or their families, and I hope I've handled this matter with some decorum and sensitivity. Although not a sufferer of epilepsy myself, I am aware of some of the difficulties faced and I have nothing but the utmost respect for these brave people.**

**Someone mentioned something about Sam's 'little pills' in the first chapter, in comparison to their relative's rather larger pills. All I can say in explanation is that every country, every primary care trust will likely have slightly different recommendations and guidelines with reference to treatment. But also please take into account that anticonvulsant therapy, including dose, type and number of drugs prescribed will probably differ from patient to patient; known as biological variation. We humans are, after all, extremely individual creatures and no two of us are exactly alike. No, not even identical twins if you read the fine print, and it has always been my argument for 'tailor made health care', costly though it would be (that little anecdote is probably meant more for the UK readers given out current climate). Don't let me launch into **_**that **_**particular hornets' nest...ok shutting up now!**

**And to that same reviewer I also must say: now perhaps you understand the 'weirdly abrupt ending' to the first chapter. It was just a sounding board, a sample perhaps, just to see how people would react. Hope you enjoyed this continuation sweetheart and it didn't disappoint you too much.**

**Kind regards,**

**ST.xxx.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Consequences Chapter 3**

**Wow! I'm so pleased with the response to this story. I've been trying to alter the 'complete' category but it won't budge so you're just going to have to trust me. I'll let you know when it's truly finished so don't worry.**

**This is a somewhat extra-long chapter so clear your diary...**

**Apologies to all: haven't had the time to respond to your kind reviews due to a family crisis, and it's a miracle I got this one out. But I will reply...eventually!**

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean's white knuckled grip on the steering wheel didn't let up despite the screaming protest from his hands. He barely noticed, too busy keeping an eye on the road, an eye on his little brother laying unconscious in the back, and one eye – _is that even possible?_ – on his cell phone sitting in the front passenger seat – _Sam's seat_.

One bar – twenty minutes passed. Two bars – another fifteen minutes, and now he was just waiting impatiently for the third. A third bar meant a decent enough cell service, which in turn would indicate that civilisation wasn't far away.

Dean didn't think, refused to. Refused to think about what he'd said to Sam after he nearly drowned. It hadn't been Sam's fault, not at all; he always reacted that way when his little brother was hurt, so scared of losing him that Dean's only outlet had nearly always been rage. He refused to think about Sam's reaction, the hurt in his voice, his eyes, how it all told him that he'd ripped his kid brother's heart to shreds.

Thinking would lead to doubt, worry, and ultimately more anger. And anger hadn't worked too well for him lately; he couldn't afford the distraction so he concentrated instead on getting his brother to a hospital.

Thinking, in Dean's opinion, had never been his strong point.

The fit, _the _fit, had lasted a total of twenty two minutes and the poor kid was exhausted. It didn't finish there, however, since within ten minutes of _that _one coming to an end another seizure hit, and it was far worse and far longer than the last, though Dean could have sworn it wasn't physically possible. Dean was starting to get an inkling that something was seriously amiss, and instinct told him it was partly down to the ghost attack, though he wasn't excusing his own behaviour down by the lake.

Sam had fallen asleep as soon as he came out of it and hadn't stirred since, completely unresponsive and unaware as his older brother rolled him onto his side, placing a towel under his head. The last thing he needed was to choke on his own blood, and eventually Sam's tongue did stop bleeding though not without leaving a nice dark red patch on the towel.

Dean was frustrated and worried as hell because with Sam completely out of it there was no way he could administer the anti-epileptic drug, at least not without force feeding it to him and running the risk of Sam choking on the damn thing. But with Sam in a deep sleep, he wasn't convulsing and Dean had to be grateful for small mercies because he wasn't sure how much more the kid could take.

Dean was now following their only possible course of action. Driving.

"I'm so sorry kiddo. I never meant...God! Why now? Of all the fucking times and places, _why did this have to happen now_?" Finally releasing one hand Dean thumped the steering wheel. One last glance at the readout on his cell phone and he grabbed it up, speed dialled then jammed it against his ear. "Gonna get you some help Sammy, you're gonna be ok I promise. Don't care what it takes."

Eventually the line picked up and Dean managed to relax slightly.

"Dad? We got a big fucking problem..."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

John and Bobby were heading out to a local bar in the mood for a post-hunt celebration when John's cell phone chirped out impatiently from his jacket pocket, demanding attention.

_Damn needy technology! Worse than having kids! _John thought with a wry grin before flipping it open. The grin soon faded.

"Dean, calm down." John glanced at Bobby with a frown. "What's happened to Sam?"

Bobby watched his friend's face as he listened in on the call. By the time Dean's explanation had finished, both men had veered away from the bar and were headed straight for Bobby's truck. Heart sinking when he quickly understood, John sought to reassure his son.

"Where are you right now? Ok, just get him to the local clinic in town. Keep him hydrated and if he wakes up try and get him to take his Tegretol and Epilim." John glanced over at Bobby as his old friend slid behind the wheel and held up three fingers. "We're on our way son, three hours at most." He snapped the cell shut just as Bobby put his foot down and the truck roared out of the parking lot.

"And?" Bobby briefly took his eyes off the road to study John; judging by the way his face was entirely bleached of colour he figured the news wasn't good.

John huffed out a frustrated breath. "Seems Sammy was attacked by a ghost."

Bobby's eyes narrowed when he sensed there was more to come. "What kind of ghost?" He asked wary of the answer.

When John turned to stare at him Bobby nearly gasped out loud at the sheer unadulterated fear in his eyes.

"It sounds like a Sumerian water spirit." John replied in a shaky voice.

"Aw crap!"

John merely nodded in response. _Yeah, that about summed it up alright!_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean glanced in the review mirror when he heard a low moan from the back seat, and saw a pair of tired blue-green eyes looking back at him, lids at half-mast.

"Welcome back little bro." Dean called softly. "How ya feelin'?"

Sam just blinked slowly, either not hearing or not understanding the question. Dean pulled over to the side of the road, grabbed a bottle of water and Sam's mediation from the glove compartment, then leapt out from behind the driver's seat. Whilst Sam was conscious, if not too lucid, Dean's was going to take the opportunity to follow his dad's advice. Opening the rear passenger door, Dean crouched down and tilted Sam's head to get a better look at him.

"Sammy you with me kid?"

Sam stared at him then nodded slightly, as though just that small amount of movement exhausted him. "_Dean...thirsty..."_ He whispered, and Dean saw the desperation in his brother's eyes when he tried but failed to raise his head.

"S'ok Sam, I gotcha." Dean smiled softly as he gently rolled Sam onto his back then twisted the cap off the bottle. "I want you to drink some of this for me, ok? Then it's time to take your meds."

"_Uh huh_," Though it came out as more of a sigh than anything else.

Dean placed a hand at the base of Sam's neck, gently lifting his head, and fed him small sips of water. Weak as a newborn kitten, he took a few tiny mouthfuls and started lightly choking. Dean pulled the bottle away and rolled Sam onto his side once again, rubbing his upper back.

"Easy there. Just take it slow." Dean tried to smile encouragingly but he was sure it came off as a grimace.

Sam barely even had the strength for the simple task of just drinking some water, and Dean wondered if it was too risky to give Sam his anticonvulsants right now.

"Want some more?" He offered the bottle again as Sam nodded, looking decidedly stronger already. Sam even raised a hand to steady the bottle against his lips this time, and took long gulps until the container was half empty.

"Thanks. Needed that." Sam's voice was less hoarse and closer to normal, Dean noticed with some relief as he uncapped the bottle of Tegretol, but it was the addition of the Epilim that helped stop the seizures, and Dean was going to have to watch Sam carefully until he got him to the town clinic. _At least Dad and Bobby were on their way by now and I'm still gonna panic if Sam doesn't stop looking at me like that..._

"Here, take these." Dean calmly held out the anticonvulsants. "Don't want another seizure if we can avoid it. There's a medical clinic in the next town; we should be there soon."

"Don't need a clinic Dean. I'm fine now, just tired." Sam accepted the pills and swallowed them down with the rest of the water. "It was probably just shock."

"Maybe," Dean frowned stubbornly. "But I'm not taking the risk. Never seen you that bad before, and besides, you took water into your lungs. You're getting checked out Sammy, so deal with it."

Sam sigh in resignation, knowing it was a waste of what little energy he had to fight him on this. Dean was worried and in Big Brother mode, which meant that Sam wasn't going anywhere without him, and it was even questionable as to whether or not he'd let him go to the bathroom without an observer.

"Sam...I'm sorry I yelled at you," Dean said suddenly. "I..."

"Yeah I know Dean." Sam smiled softly. "You were scared for me is all." It made so much more sense now, unlike before when his thoughts were jumbled and caught up in a blind panic. Maybe he was feeling better because he was less dehydrated, the water having revived him a little and the effects of the drugs made everything seemed clearer.

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and gave a lopsided grin. "Nah, was just furious about getting lake water on the upholstery."

"Yeah right."

"Damn straight, _and_ you'd be the one cleanin' it up bitch!"

"That's it; I'm riding with Dad from now on, Jerk!"

The rest of the journey continued with mild jovial banter to the usual background of rock music and accompanying eye rolls from both brothers. Sam was in a half sitting position by now, but still in the backseat as per Dean's orders. By the time they got to the clinic and parked up, Sam was more or less back to normal, protesting he was _fine_, but Dean insisted once again and gave their father a quick call to let him know they'd arrived before escorting his little brother into the examination room.

Dean watched carefully, listening in on Sam's answers to any questions, and of course butting in as per big brother protocol when he felt Sam wasn't telling the doctor everything. Needless to say, the subject of his brother's encounter with a ghost was neatly avoided, Dean coming up with the kind of cover story that made Sam glare daggers at him.

"...yeah, he thought it would be fun to go for a swim in the lake, his leg cramped up and he damn near drowned. Dumbass little brothers huh?" Dean shared a conspiratorial grin with the doctor. "Good job he had his awesome _big_ brother around to fish him out!"

Sam did his best to just shrug his shoulders, smile and admit weary defeat, but when he caught Dean's eye it was very much a different story. Dean merely winked back with a smirk and the little brother death stare slipped up another defcon, virtually impaling him between the eyebrows, a clear warning that retribution was imminent.

_Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon..._Sam's face suggested darkly.

_Bring it on squirt..._Was Dean's answering grin.

The humour faded a little when the doctor expressed his worries over Sam's slightly elevated blood pressure and accompanying heart rate, and drew some blood for laboratory analysis. Satisfied that his patient had taken the appropriate dose of anticonvulsants, the doctor left the room to fill out the request forms leaving behind a young nurse to admit Sam over night "just as a precaution", one that Dean was more than happy agreeing with.

Sam checked his watch with surprise before reluctantly handing it over to said nurse; he hadn't realised it was so late at night. Their father and Bobby were due to arrive anytime soon but Sam couldn't keep his eyes open. The exhaustion he'd managed to push aside earlier came back with a vengeance and Sam found himself drifting off into a doze, his big brother's endless flirting with the tiny nurse lulling him to sleep.

Dean watched the nurse's shapely backside appreciatively as she left the room, hips swaying, a coy smile over one slender shoulder. He shook his head with a grin wondering where the nearest storage cupboard was and if there was room enough for two. A light snore interrupted his PG 17 day dreaming and he glanced over at his little brother, noting his returning colour with relief.

Soft knocking at the door drew his attention to find a worried looking John and Bobby peering in at Sam. Dean motioned for them to come in but with a finger placed over his lips. They nodded when they realised Sam was asleep and moved round the bed to stand close enough to Dean that they could hear each other's whispers.

"How's he doing?" John studied Sam's face carefully, watching for signs of distress.

"Ok for now; he just fell asleep." Dean's frown slowly increased when he saw Bobby reach out and grasp Sam's wrist, checking his pulse. _What's wrong here?_ "Doc said his blood pressure's a little high...Dad? What's goin' on?" He asked finally. John was gently checking Sam's eyes, ears, even his neck glands; it was enough to persuade Dean he was missing something.

John tried out a reassuring smile, which unfortunately appeared way too weak and shaky to be convincing. "Let's step outside and I'll explain."

Dean threw one last concerned glance at his sleeping brother then allowed his father to guide him from the room.

Once outside, Dean folded his arms and glared at John. "Well?"

"What else did the doctor tell you?" John tried avoiding the question just for a moment.

"They're waiting for his blood results to come back; he just needs to rest up and they're keeping him in overnight for observation." Dean shrugged. "He's gonna be ok, probably just the shock of the near drowning." The glare returned. "Now what gives? Why the Dr Kildare moment back there? Sam's already been examined so what were _you _lookin' for?"

His father sighed, suddenly seeming ten years older. "It's not over yet Dean. And it won't be 'til that bitch is gone."

Dean blinked in surprise. "Come again?"

A gaggle of student doctors rounded into the hallway chattering amongst themselves, and both Winchesters fell silent each taking a sudden interest in either the floor or ceiling. The instant they were alone Dean edged over to his father, taking in his rumpled appearance.

"Dad?"

"The spirit that attacked Sam; _she's_ doing this to him." John pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly. "God! This is complicated and we don't have time for a full explanation right now; her victims die, she moves on. But Sam lived...and now she knows his weakness, his vulnerability..." worried eyes sought his son's.

Dean stared at him "...she won't be able to resist coming back to finish him off." He finished, voice hard, eyes narrowed. "I need to know all the facts. What she is, was, what she does and why. _Now_ Dad!"

"Dean..." John's despairing voice was interrupted when the door to Sam's room was wrenched open to reveal one very distressed Bobby Singer.

"You'd better get in here, it's happening again."

"Oh God Sammy!" Dean pushed his way into the room, his father right behind him.

"I've pressed the call button so someone should be here soon," Bobby turned his concerned gaze on John, his message clear. _She's got her hooks in him._

Sam was writhing on the bed, agony written clear across his face, his body tensed and flexed as though undergoing a full on electric shock.

"Sam it's ok," Dean whispered as he held Sam's head still, whilst the rest of his body jerked and bucked in the throes of another epileptic seizure. "You're safe here, no one's gonna harm you. Let me do all the work. Helps on the way..." It felt strange repeating those words for the third time that day, but Dean didn't care if he had to utter them a thousand times if it offered Sam any kind of comfort, if he could even _hear_ him. But if anything the fit increased in violence, and by the time the medical team arrived Sam was barely able to draw in a breath, his lips white and bloodless, mouth filling with saliva as his natural swallowing reflex short circuited along with the rest of his body.

Terrible, _painful_ gasps filled the room as Sam struggled for air, tight spasms wracking his poor body.

_Pleasestophurtinghim! Pleasestophurtinghim! _Dean begged silently, but carried on muttering calmly, trying to give him some kind of anchor, a guide to fix on until the seizure passed.

_If_ it passed.

Sam's eyes suddenly snapped open and stared up at his brother. Dean's heart clenched when he saw the pain and fear in those pleading soulful eyes. There was nothing he could do to ease Sam's suffering.

But as he stared closely at his brother he noticed something…

If he'd blinked in that second he'd have missed it. A red spark deep within Sam's eyes, like tiny lightning, illuminating the irises just for a moment, then it was gone. If he'd had any doubt about his father's conclusion it was now well and truly wiped.

Dean was wrenched away from his brother by firm hands and pushed to the back of the room. Someone yelled to 'get that kid outta here!'

Over the panic and confusion he was vaguely aware of John gripping his shoulders and frog marching him from the room.

"Easy son. They can't help him if we get in their way. They said we can wait by the open door." It took a while to placate him because Dean was becoming real interested in shoving that doctor's stethoscope in a place that would take a great surgeon several hours to retrieve it.

John, Dean and Bobby stood helplessly in the background, watching as their youngest was prodded, poked, and eventually drugged into submission. Whatever they'd given him soon worked like a charm, but by the sounds of things the dosage had been big. Sam was now laying still and silent on the bed, eyes closed, and face almost grey under the clear plastic oxygen mask.

The nurses left with the exception of one who stood by noting Sam's vitals and checking off some sort of criteria on a clipboard, whilst the harried looking doctor ran a shaky hand through thinning hair before turning to the boy's family.

"If there's any way you can get Sam's consultant here I suggest you do it now."

John glared at the doctor when he felt Dean tense up beside him. "Perhaps you'd like to explain that."

The doctor shook his head, worriedly. "I just don't…look. I've never dealt with anything like this before. Your son's EEG is all over the place and we had to drug him to almost toxic levels to help get him under control." He finally met John's gaze with a scared one of his own. "We're gonna have to monitor his renal and liver function constantly just in case there's any damage, but I have no idea if he'll seize again when he wakes up."

Dean felt Bobby's hand come to rest on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort, and waited for his father's response.

John nodded slowly. "Ok. I'll call him."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dr Mitchell sat at his _once_ _again_ untidy desk in his _once again_ borrowed office. He'd been going over the latest inpatient figures and the statistics were proving rather baffling. One thing was becoming quite clear to him, however. With the weekly health scares in the media, increases in back problems, depression, anxiety, alcoholism, drug abuse, he concluded that the human race was suffering from a bad case of paranoia and an epidemic of hypochondria.

Because _absolutely everyone_ he met was sick in some way. Even on the odd occasion when his work load eased off in a rare show of compassion, just going out to dinner with non-medical friends was a chore.

There was _always_ someone asking him for advice about their low-cholesterol diet, the tendonitis in their elbow, _the pain in his ass…. _

Or his thoughts on the latest flu vaccines and will there ever be a cure for AIDS, _will there ever be a cure for your mouth pleasejustshutupshutupshutup…._

It left him with bad case of heart burn each time. One evening, following a particularly bad bout of indigestion, a dinner guest warned him it could be chest pain leading to a heart attack, and _that was it._ He couldn't take it any longer and politely excused himself from the table.

But it was worse when he went out with colleagues. From the consultant gynaecologist discussing some of his patient's more _intimate_ problems, to the consultant microbiologist explaining _in graphic_ _detail_ the finer points of fungal infections. But it was the orthopaedic surgeon crowing about a particularly successful amputation he'd performed on a gangrenous leg, whilst Dr Mitchell was tucking into a rare steak….

That. _That, _was the last straw. At one stage he thought the guy was going to open up his laptop, ask the waiter to hang a white sheet across the restaurant and perform a PowerPoint presentation, complete with colour photographs.

And so here he was, up to his ass in paperwork, having declined three dinner invitations already. And it was only nine o'clock on a Friday night.

_Wow! Productive night so far!_

And he couldn't have been happier.

It wasn't that he was squeamish, couldn't do his job if he was, but there was a time and a place for everything. He loved his work, breathed it, and often slept in his office when keeping close tabs on a particularly sick patient.

Once such patient had been Sam Winchester, over sixth months ago.

Tony Mitchell sat back in his rickety old seat, the wood scratched, and the leather upholstery worn thin. It was more than odd, he concluded. He'd come to know the Winchester family pretty well during Sam's recovery, and he liked all three for very different reasons.

Dean, for his smart-assed attitude and understated intelligence, which when combined made for a very charming, if cocky, young man. His love for his family knew no bounds and Tony couldn't help but admire him for that.

Sam was a shy kid that hadn't yet learned to feel comfortable in his own skin, but he was brave, warm hearted and incredibly smart. Tony wondered what would happen to womankind when the kid found out what those puppy dog eyes of his could do.

John Winchester was an ornery old bastard that was for godamn sure. Stubborn, pigheaded and determined to do things _his_ way. But he loved his kids even if he sometimes had trouble showing it, and hated to see them suffer. On the night of Sam's overdose Tony had watched John pace the hall, waiting for news of his son, sometimes sitting down to offer comfort to his oldest kid. Somehow, and Tony also wasn't quite clear on the why, a mutual respect had grown between the two men over the course of Sam's treatments, appointments, and during the unfortunate emergencies related to his condition.

Tony found the Winchesters to be the most down to earth and likeable family he'd ever met, and yet they were also the strangest. He knew there was something different about them; he'd sensed that over time but he couldn't quite put his finger on what. They didn't talk much about themselves, but Tony did know their mother had died when Sam was just a baby and that their father's job kept them on the road. Tony guessed John was some kind of freelance investigative reporter or something because he'd over heard some pretty interesting conversations between the older man and his sons, not to mention the grizzled and equally ornery Bobby Singer whenever he put in a visit. And John had never denied it.

It also explained why they'd been using a different family name when Tony first met them. Or at least it sort of did. It hadn't been until a few months later when some priest guy had come to visit a Sam Winchester and Tony had no idea who he was talking about. After some discussion with the cleric Tony soon figured out that he was talking about the Hamilton boy, and John Winchester entered stage right. There had been an awkward moment where the priest and John had stared at each other in shock, before scrambling to explain.

John was undercover writing an article, _couldn't talk about it, top secret_, _don't want anyone stealing his ideas, _etc. And so the entire family had adopted the name Hamilton on a temporary basis. Tony hadn't been fooled for a second, but the priest -_what was his name again? Jim Something…sounded Irish_ – had been genuine and even vouched for the Hamiltons…Winchesters, _whatever_, covering any medical expenses.

They were good people, and that was all Tony cared about…

Tony startled awake at the loud ringing. Rubbing one hand over his face and trying to dig the sleepy crap from his eyes, he reached out and grasped the receiver.

"'Lo. Mitchell here." Tony tried to stifle a yawn and keep from falling back to sleep all at the same time. But he sat up straight in his chair, now fully awake and frowning deeply at the sound of a gruff and familiar voice on the other end of the line. "I'll get the first flight out. Get the doctor in charge of Sam's case to email me the basic details, including symptoms, length of each seizure, therapeutic drug monitoring, dosage, the works. Oh and John? Make sure he _only _mentions Sam's hospital number and date of birth. _Not _his name. There's no such thing as a secure network."

It was standard security procedure whenever individual cases were discussed across the technological ether, but Tony got the distinct impression John needed to hear it. And once again he had no idea why.

After hanging up Tony immediately went online to book his flight, then glanced at his watch. He had two hours in order to get home and packed, before dragging his tired ass to the airport.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean leaned forward in his seat next to Sam's bed, one hand wrapped loosely round his brother's wrist. He felt exhausted, but couldn't bring himself to sleep, afraid of what might happen.

After yet another seizure since his father called Sam's consultant, Sam was looking desperately ill. Fortunately the last one had come to an end without the administration of drugs, which was just as well since the nurses and doctors were getting increasingly nervous at the prospect of over-dosing the poor kid, compensation culture being what it was.

There had been a low conversation out in the hall between Bobby and John, presumably about the spirit and how they were going to tackle it, but Dean would ask soon enough.

"Any change?"

Dean glanced up at his father a little startled. John was seated in the other chair, stroking the sweaty strands of hair away from Sam's face.

_Didn't even hear let alone **see** him enter the room. Guess I'm losin' my touch._

"He's awake from time to time but I don't think he really knows what's goin' on." Dean muttered, eyes dark with worry. "So, you gonna tell me about this spirit?"

John was silent for a moment before answering. "One thing you should understand about this. It's rare. So rare in fact that the last reported sighting was over two hundred and fifty years ago and no one's clear on the details. But that's not to say she hasn't been busy. Very few of her victims survived."

Dean frowned. "Was there a pattern?"

John turned his head pointedly to stare at his sleeping youngster. "Oh there's a pattern alright. But that's where it gets complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"Our ghost is a nomadic water spirit, more of a demi-god actually, wandering from water source to water source, always lakes or springs but never the ocean." John's voice grew soft as he continued to stare sadly at Sam. "She needs the dark, troubled thoughts and energies of young kids in order to find the strength to move on. Indications are a pattern of teenage deaths by drowning, often with the appearance of suicide. In ancient times, it's said that people offered up their more troublesome kids as sacrifices, and in exchange the water stayed clean and kept everyone from dying of thirst in times of drought."

Dean could _feel _there was more to it but stayed silent, letting John take his time.

John fixed his unblinking gaze back on Dean. "If her victim has experienced suicidal tendencies in recent years the spirit considers that a bonus. In fact, the power she gets from that…" his voice trailed off. He could tell that Dean understood.

"It's addictive. She won't let him go 'til he's dead." Dean blinked back angry tears, stood and paced to the window. "Sam must have been like the flashing cherry on the cake after a four course friggin' meal!"

"Yeah, _that_ and his struggle with epilepsy provided the after-dinner mints." Bobby's voice resonated from the doorway. "Made it easier."

"So it was just bad luck?" Dean tried to calm down, to focus on what was important.

"'Fraid so. You kids were just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Bobby moved into the room and glanced down at Sam, noting the slow shallow breaths. _Poor kid won't last much longer._

"So how do we get rid of her before…before it's too late?" Dean followed Bobby's gaze. "Some weird water banishment? 'Cos I'm thinking the bitch'll be too soggy for a salt and burn, not that there'll _be_ any bones since she's a freakin' _god_."

"Demi-god," John automatically corrected. "But you're right. It's gonna take a ritual."

"Actually," Bobby scratched the back of his head. "The _getting' rid of_ is pretty easy, she doesn't have many followers these days so she's weak; it's finding her that's gonna be tricky. _That's _the part that needs a ritual, finding and trapping her, and though I can get the stuff together it's gonna take a while. Uh…but it's gonna be dangerous."

"Why? We just go back out to the lake…"

"I doubt she's even there anymore, Dean. She's bound to have moved on and we don't know where, but you can be damn sure she won't be far from Sam." _Waiting for him to die._ Bobby didn't say it, but everyone heard. The _next_ thing he said caused a lot of raised voices and a loud _SSSHHHHH_ from a passing nurse.

"We have to summon her here. To Sam."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Tony grumbled as he parked his rental up in front of the hospital. As it was, his flight had been delayed by three hours due to bad weather, the airline almost lost his luggage, and the only car the hire company could loan him looked like it had been through a wrecker at least twice before being deposited on a busy highway in front of a bunch of Kamikaze truckers.

Mind you, he thought as he struggled from the buckled driver's seat, it was probably an improvement and at least the engine and transmission worked, because _fuck all else did!_

To add one final insult to injury, he grabbed his laptop bag and luggage from the rear seat, slammed the door….and the rear bumper detached itself with a mournful groan and crashed to the tarmac. Tony just stared at it helplessly for a moment before shaking his head in despair, turning his back and heading inside. It really _was _going to be one of those days.

"I'm Dr Mitchell, here for Sam Winchester." He announced at the reception desk, offering a friendly smile.

"I'm sorry, there's no one here by that name." The nursed grouched out after checking her computer and fixed him with a belligerent glare. Tony's friendly grin slipped. "Sure you have the right hospital?" Her tone was more than a little patronising to a man who'd been through way too much in the last few hours, and he resisted the urge to leap over the counter and give the woman a very graphic demonstration of a Proctological exam.

He leaned in, eyes boring menacingly into hers, but kept his tone pleasant. "You like your job? 'Cos if not, I can do something about that." he said smoothly, before adding slowly as if talking to a small child, "Where's the kid brought in earlier with the epileptic seizures?"

The nurse blinked, realised that here was a man at the end of his patience, and pointed down the hall. "Second on the left Dr Mitchell."

Tony allowed a small tick to develop under his right eye as he continued smiling down at her. The nurse audibly gulped when he shoved his face right in hers and growled "thank you kindly."

He could feel her nervous gaze on him as he strode away, grinning smugly.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Hey there buddy. Finally awake huh?" Tony had perched himself on the edge of Sam's bed as the kid blinked slowly up at him. "How ya feeling?"

"Hi Doc. M'fine. Little tired." Sam wasn't exaggerating. He could barely move and every breath seemed an effort. "Thirsty." He turned his head slightly to look at his brother, seated on the other side.

Dean smiled at him apologetically. "Sorry kiddo," and pointed to the small notice attached to the headboard. "Nil by mouth, for now. But we can give you just enough to keep your mouth from feeling like a bear's crapped in it."

Tony smirked loudly and the corners of Sam's mouth curled up slightly.

"Donmakemelaugh. Hurts." But his amusement was evident in spite of the pain. Sam's eyes slipped shut on feeling something cool pressed to his lips, revelling in the small relief it brought. His over worked muscles at least felt properly relaxed by now, which was a small mercy, but they still ached like a bitch.

"Ok. You get some rest; I'll be back in a little while." Tony nodded to Dean. He didn't have to ask him to keep an eye on his own brother; Dean wasn't going anywhere.

Doc Mitchell had to admit he'd never heard of a case this bad. It seemed almost unreal, and he was beginning to feel scared for the kid. Sam couldn't survive many more seizures like the ones his family had described to him, but equally they were running out of options with the anticonvulsants. According to the blood tests, Sam's kidney function was already impaired, and judging from the physical examination his was breathing laboured.

He had a plan in mind, but it wasn't a good one.

He had to convince the family it was Sam's only chance.

He really wasn't looking forward to being on the receiving end of the John Winchester glare.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Tony shifted from foot to foot. Yep, there it was. _The Glare._

"You wanna _what_?"

The doc sighed. "He's already had three more seizures since you called me, each one lasting longer than before, far more aggressive, and with less recovery time in between. The kid needs a break or his body _will_ give out."

John could understand that but "you want to put him in a _coma?_"

Bobby glanced between the two men. "Gotta admit doc, that's a little extreme."

"Yeah I know, and believe me when I say that it carries risks all on its own." The doc leaned against the wall, wishing he'd gotten more sleep on the plane. "But it's all I got 'til we figure this out."

The three men fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts. No one was aware of Dean's presence until he quietly spoke up.

"Do it."

"Dean?" John turned sharply, pushing himself away from the wall. "Son, listen…"

"I mean it Dad. Sam can't take much more punishment. At least this way it buys him some time 'til we can prepare the summoning ritual and kill that sonofabitch."

Tony's eyes flew comically wide as they swivelled between the three men like pin balls.

_"Huh?"_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Sammy? You awake kiddo?" Dean smiled when Sam finally won the struggle to open his eyes.

"_Uhuh._" His voice sounded weird and muffled coming through the oxygen mask, and he really didn't have the energy to say much more.

"Doc Mitchell's come up with an idea, but we don't have to go through with it if you don't want to, ok?" Dean knew what Sam's answer would be however, and set about quickly explaining everything from the spirit to the ritual, lingering only briefly over the subject of teenage suicides, but he could see from the sadness in his kid brother's eyes that he understood. He finished on the doc's plan with a certain amount of dread.

"It'll give us more time…"

"_S'ok._" Sam gave a small nod consent.

"It's risky; if it takes too long you might not come back out of it." Dean placed a hand over Sam's forehead and leaned closer, almost hoping Sam would change his mind. The thought of his brother wasting away in a hospital bed because of some dumb camping trip…

"_You won't let that happen."_ Sam smiled slightly and closed his eyes, feeling soothed by his brother's presence, and drifted off to sleep again.

Dean could barely speak round the lump in throat at his brother's complete and _stupid _faith in him.

"Damn straight," he whispered.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Out in the hallway, another similar conversation was taking place, but in much greater detail.

Tony was crouched down, head between his knees whilst Bobby Singer held a brown paper bag over his mouth and nose. John didn't know whether to laugh or comfort the poor guy and soon opted for the latter. After all, he knew what it was like to finally have your eyes opened to what lived in the darkness, and yeah…it came as a shock.

It had taken time; at first he'd just stared at Bobby and John as if they were insane, then he'd laughed as though they were morons. But _something_ about it all must have convinced him…

"Holy shit! This stuff's _real?_"

… Because that's when the panic attack hit.

John was a little worried at first since the guy was no spring chicken and it could've been a _heart_ attack. But Tony finally got himself under some semblance of control and leaned back against the wall, still in a crouch. Bobby took the bag away but hovered nearby just in case.

"I _knew_ there was something about all this…Sam's illness…never seen anything like it…" he muttered, and then fell into a moment's silent contemplation. "So when I saw my dead Great Aunt Agnes on my eighteenth birthday….my _god_. That _was_ real?" He hung his head. "Had nightmares for weeks afterwards. Hoped I was just drunk."

John smiled sympathetically. "Yeah, most people do when…"

"No. I mean I _really _hoped I was just drunk, and I still wish I was…_she was naked in the bathtub!_" Tony clamped a hand over his eyes in despair. "Now I have to live with the knowledge that it _really happened! _My god! She was in her seventies!_ How am I not blind?_"

John and Bobby refused to look at each other for fear of laughing out loud; they had more important things to worry about. John held out his hand to the doc.

"Come on. Let's go put my son in a coma for his own good."

Tony glanced up at the offered hand for a moment, considering that statement in all its weirdness.

"When you put it like that…"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Here we go Sam." Dean stayed the doc's hand for just a second. "You sure?"

Sam nodded then suddenly scrunched his eyes shut as minor tremors spread throughout his body. "_Dean…please…can't…_" he gasped out.

"We're out of time gentlemen, this could be it." Tony grasped Sam's wrist and held the needle to the crook of his arm. "What's it to be?"

John nodded, tears trickling silently down his face. Dean was next to his brother on the bed, holding Sam close. He could feel the tension in Sam's body building with each second that passed as he watched the needle gradually sink into the kid's arm. Increasing his grip and keeping Sam still until the doc had finished was probably one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. He hated this, but he also knew it was the only way.

Sam immediately relaxed in Dean's arms, eyes struggling to stay open for a moment longer as he gazed up at his family. "_Thanks, feel bett…_" and he was gone.

Tony fixed a blood pressure cuff to the kid's arm, a pulse oximeter to his index finger, and started tapping some information into the machine next to the bed.

"That's just the initial dose, but the barbiturate's working." Tony studied the readouts, making notes on Sam's chart. "Programming timed and measured doses for throughout the night. Now upping his oxygen a little." He turned John and Dean, seeing their sad and worried gazes. "It's not so uncommon to send a patient into deep unconsciousness to protect the brain from status epilepticus. But it's a little extreme, usually the last line of defence."

Dean nodded, unable to speak right at that moment, and kissed the top of his brother's head _I'm here Sammy. Not going anywhere without you._

Bobby had already taken off to gather the equipment necessary for the summoning so there was nothing left for the three men to do but wait, and hope Sam would be ok.

Hours ticked by.

John dozed in the chair, whereas Dean still sat on the bed, back propped up against the headboard keeping Sam tucked in his arms. He knew it was stupid but he was scared of letting go physically in case it meant letting go altogether; it gave him comfort and hoped that wherever Sam was right now he could feel it too.

Dawn turned into full daylight, turned into afternoon light, turned into evening. Tony had drawn so much blood from Sam's arm during the course of the day that Dean was amazed there was any left in his body. Each time the blood results came back with encouraging news; Sam's renal function was improving which meant that dialysis could be avoided. Dean bided his time between dozing and watching TV, and all the while he kept two fingers on the pulse in Sam's neck. He didn't care that there was a perfectly good cardiac monitor for the task; it was just another comfort and one he wouldn't willingly give up.

It was getting quite late by the time an exhausted Bobby finally stumbled into Sam's room, which was now becoming the command post for the whole impromptu hunt.

"Bobby, you get everything?" John was on his feet immediately.

"Had to call in a few favours, but yeah." Bobby set down a small back pack down by the bed, and with bushy eyebrows pulled down into a concerned scowl, studied the deeply unconscious boy, "Sam ok? Has it worked?"

Dean glanced worriedly at Sam's pale face. "Yeah. So far so good."

Tony chose that moment to appear in the doorway, back from the reception desk with fresh coffee. "So how do we do this?"

"You're getting out of this room and we're locking the door for starters." John held out a hand before Tony could protest. "For your own safety doc; this aint no job for a medic."

"Right. And what if something goes wrong and Sam needs help?" Came the retort that no one could really argue with. "You really wanna take the risk of locking me out?"

Bobby shrugged as he turned to John. "Man's gotta point. And he _could_ be a help if the bitch gets nasty."

Another one of those contemplative silences was broken by an impatient snort from Dean. "Can we just get on with it? Time's a wasting' for Christ sake. Time Sam doesn't have!"

Galvanised by Dean's stricken tone, Bobby opened the backpack and got to work.

Tony watched with interest as various symbols were drawn on the floor and walls with chalk; some of them looked fairly simple and benign, others were terrifying and Tony turned his gaze from them.

Even with John's help it took time, blessing the room with holy water and chanting strange scripture. Tony was a devout Catholic but he'd never heard of most of this stuff and it surprised him how Dean just sat calmly holding his brother, but then he was probably use to this.

_Hunters. _

_Hunting._

And not of the deer or elk variety. It _was_ difficult to imagine these guys creeping round the forests in Davy Crocket-style hats, blasting away at anything that moved and mounting it on a wall over a fireplace.

Unless it was a ghost elk, he thought to himself feeling a little dazed, but then how would that be mounted on a wall? And could elks become ghosts…?

"You ok there doc?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I'm fine." Tony shook his head and grinned at John. "Just a little overwhelmed by all this."

John nodded, returning the grin. "So, Bobby? You said getting her here was the hard part; what happens after that?"

Bobby reached into the back pack and withdrew, of all things, several children's water pistols, a metal canister, and moved into the bathroom. They heard the running water and John frowned when Bobby returned a few minutes later, the pistols dripping wet.

"Just aim straight at her and keep firing." He handed one to Dean, John, then Tony just in case.

John and Dean glanced from the pistols to Bobby, and then back again. "You gotta be kiddin' me."

Tony, not entirely sure what this was about, merely shrugged and prepared to stay close to Sam. His young patient was his primary concern and he would leave any fighting up to the others unless it became strictly necessary to join in.

And anyway, nothing was gonna happen, 'cos this wasn't real, right?

Right!

Dean slid out from the bed but didn't move away, just stood beside it, weapon at the ready even it was a kid's toy. He felt ridiculous but if it did the job then who was he to complain?

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Pretty soon they were ready, the candles lit, the sun had set and the windows and door well and truly locked from the inside, complete with salt lines. Bobby picked up a rather ancient and dusty leather-bound tome, and flipping to the bookmarked page he took a deep nervous breath, and began reading.

It was a strange sounding language, the words dark and so heavy they seemed to hang in the air. After several minutes Bobby finished the ritual and placed the book on the nightstand. Everyone glanced around the room as the tension rose to fear inducing proportions…

…and a _big fat nothing happened._

John frowned and Dean shifted his stance a little.

"Uh…not to burst your bubble there…" Dean muttered as he eyed the symbols scrawled on each of the four walls.

"Don't say it!" Bobby growled. "It was the right ritual, I checked and double checked boy, and I been at this game a darn sight…"

"I'm just sayin' is all! Geeze! No need to get all…"

"Will you two cut it out?" snapped John, trying to intervene but a certain hunter's pride had been hurt and wasn't about to let it go.

"You think _you_ can do better boy? Then go ahead! Be my guest ya young…"

"Uh, guys?" Came Tony's rather shaky voice. "Are those symbols supposed to be doing that?"

The arguing stopped immediately and everyone turned their attention back to the walls. The chalk symbols were aglow with an eerie red light and the room temperature suddenly plummeted. The candles flickered a little as a light breeze picked up from nowhere, and Dean found himself shivering as though someone had walked over his grave. He whirled round to check on his brother and gasped. It appeared as though an invisible hand was carding gently through Sam's hair, gradually loosening the oxygen mask, trying to remove it.

"Hey!" Dean leapt towards the bed and snatched his little brother into his arms, reaffixing the mask. Another cold shiver ran through him, his breath misting in the air and he hugged Sam tighter, trying to keep him warm. "Dad?"

"I don't know son! Just keep hold of 'im!" John's eyes narrowed warily when the candles flickered once more then extinguished altogether along with the glowing symbols, plunging the room into darkness. "Bobby? Some good ideas would be real useful about now."

Bobby spun round, "She's fighting it, knows what we've done." The room remained dark and silent. "She's trapped alright. Now we need her to…"

The symbols suddenly blazed again in the red light and she came at them, screaming silently towards Sam, and hovering over his bed. Her grey misty shrouds crackled with that now familiar and haunting red lightning, which snaked downwards trying to reach for him.

"Stay away from him!" Dean yelled, turning Sam's face into his neck, hand clutching protectively at the back of his little brother's head. "You can't have him!"

A few bursts from John's water pistol and she was gone.

Nothing. Silence.

_It can't have been that easy._

The symbols continued to glow, suggesting that it _wasn't._

Bobby and John circled the room as best they could, whilst Dean kept a tight hold on Sam. No one expected such a direct attack on the boy and Dean was scared shitless.

"Hey Bobby?"

"Yeah kid." Bobby answered softly, any slights forgiven.

"Uh…if she's trapped now, can we get Sam out of the room?" Dean's voice was shaky in the darkness and Bobby frowned sadly, wishing it were that simple.

"'Fraid not. If Sam leaves the room she can break out; it's her lust for his energy that's helping the symbols keep her prisoner. Sorry kid, but we just have to keep fightin'."

No sooner had he said it than she came at them once more, again going straight for Sam, trying to gain a hold on him. Dean reached up with his pistol and fired, water squirting noisily until it was empty. This time it hit its mark and her scream was loud as she writhed in pain and flung herself at the walls, frantically trying to escape. A few more hits from John and Bobby and they were also out, racing into the bathroom to reload.

She whirled round vengefully, seeming to notice Dean for the first time.

_You…_she hissed and flew at him again. And _damnit_ but she was fast, just like before at the lake.

Dean scrambled in front of Sam, at the same time pushing him back.

She grimaced and snarled, hovering in front of him. Then time seemed to stand still as her face suddenly tilted to the side, the anger gone to be replaced by curiosity, then glee as though she'd find something not only amusing but also _useful._

_I can take you both…your guilt…your anguish for him…you __**reek**__ of it…_

She reached out and Dean felt himself surrounded by the grey misty cloak, and suddenly understood what Sam went through at the lake. Sheer agony was like a bolt of lightning through his skull, and he tried to cry out but his vocal cords were paralysed by the pain. He now saw the red lightning not as an outsider but as a part of it…and _by Christ did it hurt._

Just as suddenly she swooped away again, flickering and screaming with anger. Dean's head was reeling from the attack, but he made out the shapes of Tony, Bobby and his father, fully re-loaded and attacking the bitch, fighting to draw her away from him. His eyes watered and his brain felt as though it had been fried from the inside out, but he found the strength to turn and check on his brother, relieved to find he was still breathing.

Dean briefly considered heading to the bathtub to reload his own pistol but he couldn't risk leaving Sam. The other three men were still fighting, taking it in turns to return to the bathroom for more 'ammo', but given the spirit's incredible speed it was virtually impossible to get a bead on her. Her screams were proof enough the water obviously worked when it _did_ hit her, though Dean couldn't figure out why. She was a _water_ spirit, so why would water hold the power to kill her?

Bobby fired again and Dean caught some of the spray on his face, his tongue subconsciously darting out to lick his lips….salt? _Salt water?_

An idea struck him and he reached over his brother, rummaging in the storage unit under the cardiac monitor. When he felt around his fingers closed on what he hoped he was looking for and pulled. By the light of the glowing symbols along the walls Dean smiled tightly, as he set himself up as bait.

"Guys! Let her go!"

Three puzzled faces turned his way and glared at Dean as though he'd gone nuts.

"What? You crazy?" Bobby yelled.

It was enough to break their concentration and the spirit once again darted across to the bed, swooping in to claim the brothers. Before she surrounded them, her grey shroud floating closer each second, Dean broke the seal on his precious find in one quick movement and tightened his grip on the soft clear plastic. Once again the red lightning crackled around his head, and the pain nearly floored him, but he stubbornly held on…_and squeezed._

The spirit took a few seconds to register what was happening, then she angrily peered down at Dean through the mist.

_What have you done to me?_

And Dean grinned when she spotted the now empty saline IV bag, her eyes widening with fear. She screamed long and loud, her face contorted in a rictus of agony, and slowly she began to disintegrate as though the saline were acid. The smell was horrendous, the sight sickly, her ethereal skin bubbling and sliding away into nothing, revealing her darkness. It was a slow process, one Dean sincerely hoped he'd never have to witness again. But gradually the red lightning gave one last crackle, the spirit faded and the symbols on the walls winked out, leaving three hunters, a coma patient and a doctor in total darkness.

After a small silence, Dean felt the need to comment:

"Well this sucks…"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

_Much swearing accompanied this chapter since I just didn't feel happy with it. There's something missing, and I really don't feel as passionate about it as I did the last chapter. But...I tried. That's all I can say._

_The next instalment will be the conclusion, unless my somewhat overtaxed brain comes up with something else...have to say that I really hope not. Need to leave this alone for a while._

_Again, many thanks for your continued support and I __**will**__ answer you!_

_Kind regards,_

_ST.xxx._


	4. Chapter 4

**Consequences Chapter 4**

_**I hope I managed to reply to everyone's reviews at some point. My sincere apologies to those I missed. Many thanks to you all for your support.**_

_**Please note that there is only a certain set time frame at the start of the chapter, but as it moves on I've pretty much left that up to the individual reader to decide whether or not this takes place over days, weeks or months. A cop out I know; I just couldn't make up my mind and I was bound to piss someone off no matter which way I played it.**_

_**I apologise for any typos etc. This is an extra long chapter and there are only so many times I can read through it before I kill myself.**_

_**Some of you wanted more Limp Sam? You got it: completely over the top limpness, and protective Dean 'til it comes out of your ears. Don't say I never give you anything!**_

_**Here we go boys and girls. **_

_**The concluding chapter…**_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Come on Sam, please. Just give me a sign here, squeeze my hand, kick me in the balls…_something._" Dean sighed as he watched over his kid brother.

Since banishing the water spirit Dr Mitchell had began gradually weaning Sam off the drugs, but that was days ago. And not one sound, not even a muscle twitching in the kid's face signalled he was waking up from the induced coma. There had been mild talk of permanent damage but Dean refused to listen at first, just stayed by Sam's bed side and hoped the sound of his voice would bore his little brother into coming round.

Worryingly, Sam's kidney and liver function were declining again, and his EEG suggested he was catatonic.

John was worried as hell about both his boys. Sam in a coma, and Dean seemed on the verge of one himself, having not slept or eaten properly since this all began. He clearly blamed himself, in spite of his father's reassurance that he'd done everything he could.

Bobby and Dr Mitchell despaired at all three of the Winchesters. _John_ blamed himself for this, having allowed the kids to go off by themselves for the weekend, but as Bobby and Tony pointed out, they'd needed the time and space.

It didn't matter one iota who blamed who, or who indeed was actually responsible, because Sam wasn't waking up.

Nothing was working and Dean found himself fighting back tears for the umpteenth time that week. This wasn't right. _It wasn't fair damnit!_ Sam was only just beginning to live again, getting his life back on track after the devastating diagnosis of epilepsy more than sixth months ago. His kid brother was desperate to get back on the hunt, to prove himself, and now it seemed like this incident with that bitch of a water spirit might have taken that away.

"If it's any help, I think he's just taking some time out." Dr Mitchell's voice caught Dean's attention from the door to Sam's room.

Dean turned his head and frowned. "But you said…"

"I said _possible_ permanent damage. I never said it was set in stone." Tony nudged away from the door and sat down on the opposite side of the bed. "You have to remember," He continued quietly, "that your brother's been through a lot. Those were some damn powerful seizures and most people wouldn't have survived this far. Your brother's strong, he came through, and as far as I can tell he's still here."

Dean stared at Sam sadly. "Yeah." He dropped his gaze to his hand, clutched tightly around that of his unresponsive brother's.

Tony seemed to take the hint, slowly got to his feet and left. He had some more of Sam's results to sift through anyhow and the sooner the better.

Dean didn't watch the doctor leave.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Five days later and there was _still_ no change, except that Sam seemed thinner and paler. He was being kept alive by a nasal gastric tube, fed through his nose, down his oesophagus and straight into his stomach, providing Sam with much needed vitamins and nutrients.

In all honesty Dean was freaked by the tube, strapped to Sam's face by the vast amount of medical tape and bandages, which Tony had assured was necessary to prevent nosebleeds should the tube become dislodged if Sam moved or woke up.

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and tried hard not to feel overwhelmed with despair. At least Sam could breathe for himself, though maybe it was only a matter of time before that changed. There was already some discussion of placing Sam on a direct gastric feeding tube, one that would be inserted through an incision in the kid's abdomen and into the stomach. But this was just in case of full respiratory arrest and Sam needed a ventilator.

Dean was somewhat disturbed by just how much information he was getting on listening in on conversations between John and Tony. It was the last thing he'd wanted, _hadn't planned to listen_, and didn't want to hear that not only might Sam's coma continue but that his condition might well deteriorate further.

Most nights John sat with him, but often his father was out pacing the halls in frustration, wearing thin tread marks in the tiled floor. John Winchester had never been known for his patience, particularly when his boys were sick or hurt. And judging by the matching unhealthy pallor of each kid this was certainly the case.

Dean refused to budge, showing that stubborn streak so famous to the Winchester line. John refused to give up on bringing his oldest son breakfast, lunch, dinner, supper, proving that he was still master of the Stubborn Game.

In the end a compromise had to be reached, because Dean was swaying in his seat, stomach so bundled up tight with nerves John was worried he _really was _getting sick. It came down to a simple threat. Eat and sleep, or leave.

Dean had glared at his father, who was looming over him, arms folded and jaw set, then rather ungraciously grabbed the large sandwich from the nightstand and unceremoniously shoved the whole thing into his mouth at once. He deliberately chewed with his mouth open and if Sam had been awake it was a safe bet the poor kid would have vomited at the sight.

John wouldn't give him the satisfaction of grimacing at such uncouth behaviour, merely smiled smugly and went in search of some coffee, confident that Dean wouldn't dare go back on the deal. John would soon know if he had, especially if the kid really did get sick.

In the meantime, Tony ran more blood tests and kept up the close monitoring, but to Dean, Sam appeared to be stuck in some kind of stasis, or suspended animation; or was the world on hold just waiting for him to awaken and resume his life?

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Two in the morning and the moment that everyone had been dreading…

Dean woke to the sound of monitors wailing out, and his little brother's lips turning blue.

Sam had gone into respiratory arrest very suddenly and Tony swore under his breath as he fitted his patient with a breathing tube and set up the gastric feeding straight into Sam's stomach.

Dean watched on, tears streaming down his face unchecked. He no longer cared. His baby brother was dying, unable to breathe without help _and all because of a stupid fucking camping trip!_

After the doctor left he slumped once again beside the bed, ignored his breaking heart and tried to muster some hope, something to keep himself going. Dean had no idea if Sam had been able to hear him all this time but had to keep talking, since it helped him feel closer to his brother.

And that was the real bastard of it all. Sam was only lying right next to him, but he might as well have been hundreds of miles away.

"Oh Christ Sammy come on." Dean begged for what must have been the thousandth time. "You can't give up, not now. Please kiddo, you can't go like this. Just open your eyes for me."

After that, for some reason he couldn't put into words Dean felt a renewed sense of determination and pulled out all the stops. He asked Bobby to find out everything he could on spells, incantations, healing rituals, the whole works. John and Bobby only went along with it for Dean's sake, not really believing that they'd find anything, but if it gave Dean something to fight for until….well, even the ever-optimistic Tony Mitchell was beginning to admit defeat and had even engaged John in _very_ private talks about the future possibility of letting Sam go; the boy's EEG was showing a gradual deterioration in cerebral function and wasn't likely to improve as time moved on.

_Very_ private talks. Because he was pretty certain that had Dean knew about it there would have been a serious uproar, possibly involving Dr Mitchell, a scalpel, and absolutely no anaesthetic.

Tony was saddened that it had got to this stage, and although he still held out hope, it was his duty to go through the motions. And unfortunately, as he quickly explained to an extremely angry and distraught John Winchester, this was one of said duties. No one liked it, but it _had _to be discussed.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean rubbed his eyes and blinked hard to clear them. He'd read through enough journals, text books, and ancient mythology books to satisfy his geek brother for a year at least. He'd been all the way through from Catholicism to Islam, from Wicca to Chinese healing. He even briefly considered the idea of acupuncture but discounted it; he wasn't sure he trusted some stranger to stick pins into his brother's body. It was bad enough he had to let the hospital quacks anywhere near Sam at all.

No. There had to be something. Dean wasn't giving up on his little brother, no matter what anyone said. He wasn't stupid; he was more than aware of what his dad and Tony had been discussing behind closed doors, and as much as it angered and frightened him to even think it, Dean knew it was an inevitable conversation. After all, Sam was looking worse each passing day and it was only a matter of time before his heart wouldn't be able to sustain him. Dean might have been stubborn but he was also realistic, and that somehow made him all the more determined to find a way to help Sam, help him find his way back.

"_Comeoncomeon_ in all this folklore and healing spells and damn voodoo there must be _something!_" Dean flipped impatiently through yet another of Bobby's books, searching desperately for a lead, even a small one. He glanced up at his brother from time to time, just to remind himself that Sammy was_ right here._ Not dead, which meant there was a chance. "Don't worry kiddo. It's here somewhere, I can feel it." He whispered, reaching over to stroke Sam's unruly hair back from his face.

_Christ he looks so pale._

Taking another shaky breath Dean carried on, scanning through book after book, scroll after scroll, reading and reading until his eyes felt like they were going pop straight out of his head from sheer exhaustion. His brother definitely had the edge on him when it came to research, spending hours at a time, nose happily wedged in a book, and Dean wondered how in hell Sam had managed it for such long periods of time without going blind.

After another hour or so his eyes began to drift shut, his body slackening as sleep took hold. His current book, _Native American Healing: body, mind and spirit, _slid to the floor with a loud thud jolting him upright in his seat. Dean shook his head and reached down to pick up the book, his intent to just throw it back on the nightstand, marked as another waste of time. As he leant over something caught his eye; the book had fallen open about twenty or so pages from the end, and the tiny subheading _Awakenings: the mind_ stood out. He realised he hadn't scanned that far back and soon became engrossed in the paragraph. Dean turned the page to read on, and it wasn't until he later glanced at his watch that he'd found he'd been reading for over an hour.

_This could be it,_ he thought excitedly. _Sammy I think I've found a way to get you back!_

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Bobby frowned at Dean worriedly as the kid stared back at him, hope written right across his young face.

"I don't wanna disappoint you son, but these are just legends. I've never heard of a single incident where it's actually worked." He raised an eyebrow at John, who just shrugged. Both Winchesters were ready to try anything at this stage.

Dean shook his head. "That's not what it says here," he pointed to a reference in the bibliography section. "Read this."

Bobby sighed.

…_a severe head injury in 1976. Doctors maintain that the girl came out of the coma due to medical intervention, but the parents believed that responsibility lay with a native American family friend who performed the mind healing ceremony, allowing the child's mind to awaken and take back control of her body…_

"Dean, this doesn't mean anything. The doctors coulda been right all along." Bobby read through it again, wishing he could find some small grain of hope. "There's still no definite proof it's anymore than myth."

"Can't hurt to try though, right?" Asked Dean, trying to keep his patience in check. "I mean in our line of work, anything's possible."

"Kid's gotta point." John tentatively agreed. "We come up against legends and myths all the time that turn out to be true." _And this might be Sam's only chance._

Bobby nodded his head tiredly, hearing the unspoken words. "Yeah…it can't hurt to try. I'll go make some phone calls." He turned to go but couldn't leave it at that. "Just…don't pin ya hopes on this, ok? Either of ya."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Hey little bro. Look what I gotcha." Dean set the cuddly toy gently down on Sam's stomach, careful not to dislodge or place pressure on the gastric tube. It was cute, even Dean had to admit. He couldn't find a simple teddy bear in the hospital gift shop so had to make do with a light blue lop-eared bunny rabbit around the size of a large coffee carafe, with adorably over-sized paws and its thick, soft ears trailed right down to its butt.

Dean smiled sheepishly, eyes full of hope. "Yeah, I know. You're just dying to wake up and tell me you're too old for stuffed toys huh?" he gently stroked the soft fluffy material, then shuffled the rabbit forward over Sam's chest, paw by paw, until it's nose brushed against Sam's sunken cheek. "What's up doc?" Dean rolled his eyes at the poor imitation of Bugs Bunny.

As expected, Sam remained eerily silent and even the ventilator seemed unusually quiet. It was still functioning, filling his little brother's lungs with oxygen at every soft whoosh and click, but the sound was subdued as though it too was now aware of just how fragile Sam's hold on life had become.

Bobby was still asking around about the Awakening, contacting old friends and hunters for information and equipment, but had so far drawn a blank. He promised to keep trying, and Dean continued to promise Sam the same. But staring at Sam now, with the stuffed rabbit resting on his chest, soft nose buried in Sam's neck under the protruding ET tube...

Dean couldn't stop it. The fatigue, fear and loneliness caught up and overwhelmed him. His hands began to shake, followed shortly by his arms and shoulders and pretty soon full on silent sobs wracked his tired body with grief for his little brother.

Sam wasn't dead yet, but Dean knew it wouldn't be long.

He barely felt strong arms holding him up in his chair; he would have slid to the floor without even noticing if not for his father. And his crying was no longer silent.

John had _never_ seen his oldest child so distraught or heartbroken, never heard him cry like this, not even after his momma died. He felt the boy's young body shaking violently in his arms and held on tight, silently praying to a god he didn't believe in to give both his sons the strength to get through this.

"That's it son," John whispered softly, rocking him back and forth. "Just let it go." He held back his own tears with an iron will. This was about helping Dean, helping him come to terms with what was going to happen. There would be time enough later for John to grieve.

John had no idea how long they stayed that way but Dean had cried himself to sleep, the dry tear tracks on his face making him seem impossibly young. During that time, the sun had slid down the sky casting shadows on the windowsill whilst the evening sky lit up in a silent but beautiful firework display of clouds and colours, just the kind of sunset that his youngest would have been fascinated by.

_Sam won't get to see anymore sunsets._

John choked back his own feelings of despair and helplessness when the treacherous thought pushed to the front of his mind. It made him feel dangerous and reckless. He wanted to throw something violently through the window in an attempt to smash the sunset and any other sunsets that might have followed.

"John?" Bobby was standing in the doorway, looking unsure as to whether or not this was the right time to enter. It was a forlorn sight, John kneeling on the floor with Dean in his arms and staring hopelessly at the occupant of the bed. Maybe what he had to tell them would change their outlook.

"Boys, I've had a lead on that ritual." Bobby smiled slightly when John raised his chin from Dean's shoulder. "It's gonna be tough, but the good news is I think it could work."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean got rather shakily to his feet when Bobby introduced the guy, and held out his hand. Which was _completely _ignored. Dean would have glared but didn't have the energy, so instead his tired gaze swept over the tall, dark haired guy standing next to his brother's bed. His name, according to Bobby, was Jack 'Hawkeye' Blackfeather, to which Dean did his best to conceal a loud derisive snort by turning it into a false sneeze. Judging by the look on Jack's face he wasn't fooled for a second, and he looked Dean up and down with a matching air of distain.

_God! If only Sam were awake to see this guy. We'd be knee deep in eye rolls!_

Even John had to silently agree with that one. This man was a walking cliché that almost screamed _Geronimo_. Resisting the very same eye roll inherited by his youngest, John kept calm and quiet.

But really..._all that's missing is the tomahawk and the totem pole!_

"Jack was one hell of a lucky find; he's been practicing the Awakening for the last five years since his little sister nearly died from Diphtheria." Bobby ignored the apparent hostile atmosphere. In truth, he didn't much like the guy either. Jack was surly, rude, arrogant, and he nearly made one of Sam's nurses cry. But if he could do the job, bring Sam back, then personalities couldn't matter.

John followed Bobby's neutral lead and cleared his throat politely. "So, need any help setting up?"

Jack sneered at him. "Not from the likes of you, _hunter!_"

A deadly silence filled the room and Dean slowly raised an eyebrow.

"Why don't we leave you to it huh Jack?" Bobby attempted to smooth ruffled feathers, "We'll just wait outside." To John and Dean he whispered "pipe down! I'll tell ya later!"

Jack's voice struck out a sharp command. "Not him," he pointed to Dean, then jerked his head in the direction of the door. "The rest of you can go."

John and Bobby watched in astonishment as the door virtually slammed in their faces. After a brief pause John and Bobby turned their backs to lean against the frame, both heaving out a long breath.

John glanced over at his companion. "Who the hell is that guy?"

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"What happens now?" Dean began but quickly shut his mouth at the grim glare thrown his way.

Jack clearly wasn't one to mess with, and given that he held the power to save Sam's life, Dean wasn't going to try anything. Though he _was_ tempted. This guy had the kind of smug superiority that was just begging for an ass kicking.

"Sit." Jack, voice softer, attitude a little more gracious now for some reason, indicated Dean should climb on to the bed and face his brother. Dean heard a match flare to life followed by a warm, sweet fragrance that made him think of Home. Not that home was something he could define; it was... just what it was..._home._

A light tapping followed by some low chanting then Jack sat on the other side of Sam, cross-legged, palms out, eyes trained on Dean.

"You're brother's still here; the Great Spirit guards him." Dean managed to hold back the smirk. "Sam must return soon but needs guidance. Only you, of his blood, his brother, can guide him..." Jack reached out and gently grasped Dean's wrist, turning the hand over. A strange looking stone knife appeared in his other hand and before Dean could protest the blade was drawn across the lifeline of his palm, blood oozing lightly from the shallow cut. Oddly enough he didn't feel any pain, just a sense of disconnection from his own body.

Jack watched him closely and nodded. "You seek your brother, to bring him home." The knife turned and cut into the palm of Sam's hand. "Blood seeks blood." Jack pressed the two bleeding hands together, smiling slightly when Dean's fingers automatically entwined with Sam's. "Now go... _Protector_."

The guy began chanting again in a low voice that was kind of relaxing, and Dean felt himself drifting off, convinced Jack was going to chew him a new one if he caught him sleeping on the job but not caring. The last thing he remembered was staring briefly into Jack's vivid eyes, sinking into the dark chestnut depths and thinking..._huh! Funny, he really does have eyes like a hawk..._

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"What's his story?" John was nursing a hot coffee, his back resting against the wall whilst Bobby tried to listen in at the door. He gave up after a while, unable to make out what was being said, and joined his friend.

"He was raised in a middle class family, went to college, majored in Natural History and has a Masters degree in Anthropology. Well known in some circles, but pretty low key in others. Keeps himself to himself, honest and law abiding with no known vices."

John stared at him. "Huh? I thought you said he was Native American."

Bobby grinned. "I never said that. And neither did he, but his family are descended from one of the local tribes. His grandfather taught him the ways of his people, but his years at college filled him in on the rest."

"Interesting guy," John nodded thoughtfully. "So what's his beef with hunters?"

Bobby's grin faded, his face growing a little dark. "He and his younger brother were close, practically raised the kid. But the younger had a special gift, a frightening one." He watched John take a sip of his coffee, "he was a skin walker" and watched it explode outwards as John coughed and spluttered the warm liquid across the floor.

"He...wha..." another splutter and John coughed loudly to clear the coffee from his lungs. "He what?"

Bobby nodded. "Yep, that's what I thought. Took the shape of a hawk mostly but sometimes a bear. He was eventually killed by a group of hunters. _Our_ kind that is. He was a good kid, never did anyone no harm. It's a long story but they figured out what he was, and as you know it's pretty much ingrained in a hunter to believe that anything even slightly supernatural is dangerous and evil."

John stared down into his coffee for a long moment. "So why's he helping us? The very people he hates."

Bobby shrugged. "He didn't go into much detail, he's a private guy. Just said he knew what it was like to lose a brother. Didn't wanna see anyone else go through that if it could be helped. Oh, and something about Sam having a natural light about him, as though he's been touched by evil but protected by love..." he shook his head with a wry grin. "I aint too sure what the guy means, but if it helps Sam..."

John nodded worriedly but had nothing else to add to that. "Where dya find 'him?"

"Uh," Bobby scratched his head a little nervously. "He, uh, kinda found me."

"What?"

"Now hold on, don't go jumpin' the gun here. The guy didn't set out to find Sam, just said he'd heard about all this, knew we were looking for someone who could help. I'd just about chased down another dead lead, next thing I know this huge guy in a chief's costume is leaning against my truck." Bobby stared hard at John. "Once you hear the shovel strike the dirt it don't take long to find the digger."

John snorted. "Where dya get that from? The Gold Rush Book of One-liners?"

Bobby managed to look offended in spite of the reluctant grin curling up his moustache. "Nope. The Bobby Singer Book of Wisdom."

"Huh. Figures."

"Like ta see _you_ do any better."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean opened his eyes and...just _stopped._ Stopped moving, stopped breathing for a moment. He wasn't sure what he expected but it sure wasn't this.

_Home? For Sam? You're kiddin' me!_

But it was right in front of him in all its glory. The gleaming black paintwork, shiny chrome bumpers, the sleek yet boxy lines...and _Sam._

Sam was curled up in the passenger seat, staring fearfully out the windshield. He hadn't yet clocked Dean's presence, just stared into the distance, as if watching and waiting.

Dean studied him for a moment, resisting the desperate urge to run to the car, wrench open the door and pull his brother into his arms. He didn't want to scare the poor kid, and by the looks of things Sam was already deeply troubled.

_And why wouldn't he be? He's in a coma, has no idea what's going on, and now he's sitting in the Impala stuck out...where exactly?_

Dean took a good look round for the first time.

_A graveyard?_

_Now_ he recognised the place as it swum into focus. It was the place where it all first happened, where Sam lost his identity, lost his purpose, _where he lost his sense of family._

_Aw Sammy._ That his kid brother had become trapped here of all places was heart breaking. And there was no doubt in Dean's mind that Sam was indeed trapped.

Dean turned, dreading what would greet him but had to see anyway.

_...he skidded to a halt at the sight of his brother sprawled on the ground, groaning and clutching his wrist, the spirit poised over him ready for its next attack, and his father desperately trying to scramble out of the grave and frantically yelling for Sam._

_The spirit dove for Dean, wrapping cold grey hands around his neck, and Sam could hear his brother gasping for breath as his windpipe was slowly crushed._

_Biting back his panic, Sam raised the shotgun and fired. The spirit screeched angrily, didn't dissipate in the slightest, just changed direction and suddenly the young Winchester found himself the target of one very pissed off ghost. Standing his ground, head high, Sam fired again just as she swooped in for the kill and shortly realised he was airborne a split second before the back of his head connected with a stone mausoleum. Fighting to stay conscious, Sam reached sluggishly into his jacket pocket for more rock salt shells. He could just about see the ghost lunging for him one more time and he knew he was too slow._

_The smell of accelerant suddenly filled the air followed by burning wood and bone. A loud screech was cut short leaving a shocking silence in the night air._

_Sam understood what happened; his father had used Sam's distraction to salt and spray the corpse then throw in the lit match, because even with his darkening vision he could spot the flames leaping inside the grave, right from where he lay on the cold damp ground._

_The spirit was taken care of._

_But Dean was hurt and that didn't sit well with Sam, especially as he knew full well it was his fault. If he hadn't been distracted by his own self-pity it would never have happened. It was that thought that forced Sam to snap open his eyes. __Just how bad was his brother hurt?_

_Nononono...she was strangling him...please Dean be ok..._

_Ignoring the skull splitting pain in his head, with the help of the very stone monument that caused it, he got shakily to his feet and tried to make his way over to his family in double time._

_His dad was crouched beside Dean, one arm round his shoulders and helping him to stand up. Dean groaned in pain, still holding his wrist which was now swelling nicely._

"_Dad? Is he ok?" Sam called softly, anxiously._

"_I'm gonna get him to the ER. That wrist's probably broken and needs a cast." And Sam bit his lip at the neutral tone, and the way his father __wouldn't even look at him._

"_Let me help." And Sam made to slide an arm round Dean's other shoulder to assist him to the car._

"_Leave it Sam." John replied, voice still neutral though this time there was a distinct edge to it._

_Sam backed off and trailed behind his family, self-loathing and misery warring for space in his head. He fought back tears as his head suddenly pounded with renewed viciousness, and swallowed back a gasp of pain. Blinking frantically to stay awake, Sam trudged onwards. His family would hardly thank him for passing out on them after his performance tonight. God, he was such a screw-up they'd probably just leave him lying there if it weren't for the one hell of a bawling out he knew was coming. Sam was resigned; it was nothing more than he deserved..._

Dean hung his head in shame and remorse. He was now seeing that night from Sam's point of view, so different to his own. Sure, they'd talked about it, but Dean hadn't really _got it_ until now. _Now _he was feeling Sam's own shame, and worst of all his dejection, and Dean wasn't sure how to fix it.

_Sam's still feeling guilty about all this? Why? We told him..._

But Dean knew. It was the innate Winchester guilt complex along tied in with typical Sammy head space, and he wondered how he'd missed it. He should have _known before..._

Not going there. Leave that for later. Bring him back _NOW!_

With a sense that time was _really _running out, Dean followed his initial instincts.

_The clocks ticking..._

He raced to the car,

_Not long now..._

yanked open the door,

_Times running away..._

and pulled Sam forcefully into his arms. He didn't expect the fight...

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Is this really gonna work? I mean, it's been hours." John huffed impatiently, worried for his kids.

"Can't rush these things John." Bobby didn't even open his eyes as he rested his head against the wall, sitting on his ass, legs stretched out to mirror John's position, and just sighed. He'd heard this argument too many times now; John would just have to learn some patience...

_Yeah right!_

**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**

_He didn't understand what was happening to him. He felt weird. Sam had checked his eyes in the mirror and there was no sign of concussion, though he knew it could be a delayed response setting in. His head still hurt like a bitch and he just couldn't get coordinated. Sam was fairly certain he'd managed to keep it to himself however, and hoped his family just put his behaviour down to brooding over last night's events. Which wasn't far from the truth._

_The water suddenly felt cold and he realised he'd been standing there for at least half an hour. __Where's the time gone? __Turning off the water and towelling himself dry, Sam stared at himself in the mirror once more. He realised just what he was looking at. An utter failure. Before tears threatened once more, he turned to make his way into the bedroom and dressed slowly, reluctant to face the day._

_Down in the kitchen his brother and father were chatting away amiably, but as soon as he entered the room all talk ceased. It was all he could do not back out and head up to his room but he forced himself to sit at the table, hair once again hiding his face. He wasn't all that hungry but a bowl of cereal had been placed in front of him, so to avoid an interrogation he dug his spoon in and took small bites, chewing without enthusiasm. He didn't speak unless he was spoken to and only then he kept the answers to 'yes sir' or 'no sir' for his father, and with Dean he just 'hmmed' and 'snorted' in the appropriate places. Truth be told, he had no idea what they were talking about and didn't much care to get involved. His head just felt so __fuzzy__, and it was starting to scare him the way he kept fazing in and out without even realising it until he found that time had passed and he had no recollection._

_A sudden firm grip on his arm made him look up into the less than amused face of his father._

"…_you hear me Sam? You better quit this sulking real soon 'cos I'm already getting tired of it. We talked about it and it's time to let it go. We all make mistakes Sam, what's important is that we learn by them."_

_Sam stared at him in confusion. He had no idea what he was talking about so he just nodded along with it. "Yes sir."_

_Then without another word he got up, took his cereal bowl to the sink, washed and dried it, then left the kitchen..._

"Sammy you have to stop this!" Dean shook him hard. "Please kiddo..."

But he was force to watch as...

_...Sam took out the anticonvulsants and stared at them for a long time. Two containers of tiny pills that would forever rule his life. And he couldn't, he just __couldn't__._

_He shook one out and balanced it in the palm of his hand, summoning what little was left of his waning courage. If Sam was no longer around to screw things up then at least Dean and his father stood a chance..._

Dean's despair grew as more was revealed. _Is this really what was going through his mind?_

"No! We never stood a chance without you, never without you." He held his little brother tighter, then whispered "come home. Just come home and I'll keep you safe. I promise."

But Sam kept staring out the windshield, seeing the same scenes over and over again, eyes moving, searching.

_This is why he's trapped._

It kept playing out in front of them both, and Sam seemed mesmerised and terrified all at the same time. He watched time and again as his brother was nearly choked to death, saw his own suicide attempt, the distraught faces of his family as he was wheeled out from under the bridge, breathing tube in his mouth, barely alive.

"Sammy, don't watch it. It's in the past." Her heard Dean speaking softly somewhere in the background. "It doesn't matter now. It wasn't your fault, listen to me buddy, I'm right here."

Sam began to struggle against his brother "no" he whispered, but his voice soon rose to a shout when Dean refused to let go "you have to let me stay here; it's where I belong."

Dean tightened his hold, voice hard. "What? You deserve to spend the rest of your life here being punished _tortured_ for what was completely beyond your control? No fucking way!"

"You don't understand…" Sam was kicking out, desperate to get free.

"No, _you_ don't understand. Sammy if you don't come with me, if you don't leave this place now, you'll die." Dean gave him a hard shake to get his attention when Sam wouldn't meet his gaze. "Look at me! Not over there damnit look at _me!_" He grabbed Sam's jaw and forced his head round. When Sam finally looked at him, _really _looked at him, he stopped struggling and stared. He reached up a shaky hand to brush a featherlike touch against Dean's cheekbone. "Is it really you this time?" he sniffed, and blinked sending hot tears rolling down his thin face. "Please tell me you're real…"

Dean couldn't believe his ears. Is this what the so called Great Spirit had in mind when guarding Sam? As a prisoner in his own mind? What kind of cruel sadistic bastard…

"Come on." Dean whispered as he gathered his brother in his arms, resting his chin on Sam's head. "I'm taking you home Sammy. You're safe now."

Sliding an arm under Sam's knees, Dean gently lifted him from the car, stood up and faced the past.

"If you wanna punish someone so bad, then punish me. I'm his big brother, I shoulda been watchin' out for him but I let him down." Dean squared up, trying not to notice how light Sam was even here….wherever _here_ was. "He's coming home with me, where he belongs."

As though someone had flicked off a TV, the replays stopped, the car disappeared and Dean was back on Sam's bed, holding his brother close. He could feel the rise and fall of the kid's skinny chest, hear the cardiac monitor bleeping away quietly.

"Sam's hope was fading. He was given a reason to keep going, keep fighting until you could find him." Jack spoke up quietly. "The Great Spirit is not cruel without good reason."

Dean glanced up at him in shock, at a complete loss for words.

"He'll need more time." Jack slid off the bed and strode to the door, "But he will be back. Take good care of your brother." Before Dean could respond the guy had slipped from the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Dean laid Sam back, adjusting the pillows behind his head. For a moment there he was worried the ET tube feeding oxygen into Sam's lungs had developed a kink, effectively suffocating him, but all seemed fine. Dean was little disappointed that Sam hadn't woken up yet, in fact there was no change at all but for some reason he believed what Jack had told him. When Sam was ready, Dean would be waiting for him.

As he brushed Sam's hair from his face, checked the gastric tube in his stomach, generally got him settled and hopefully more comfortable, Dean thought about Jack 'Hawkeye' Blackfeather. He still wasn't sure if he liked the guy but he did hope for the opportunity to thank him one day.

Dean smiled softly, hand still stroking absentmindedly through Sam's thick hair. "When ya ready Sammy."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Both men were dozing, sitting on the tiled floor, backs to the wall when Jack came out of Sam's room. He studied them for a long moment, a half smile on his face. He'd been inside the minds of both boys, if only briefly, and he appreciated the experience. He still ached for the loss of his brother so many years before and knew he always would. But the love and compassion running through this family, in spite or maybe _because of_ the tragedy he sensed in their pasts and also, sadly, their future, he was learning to identify with his own guilt and pain.

_Maybe not all hunters are mindless murderers._

He stepped soundlessly round the sleeping men and made for the exit.

No sooner had he disappeared but Dr Mitchell came out of the elevator and stopped short trying not to laugh. John was dozing, his head on Bobby's shoulder, and the older man was resting his head on top of John's. And both were drooling.

Tony wondered briefly about taking out his cell phone and snapping a picture, but soon squashed that idea. These were hunters after all, and though he wasn't _really _afraid of them, he'd seen some of the spells, curses and incantations amongst Bobby's arsenal and didn't like the thought of waking up to a nest of killer bees in his bedroom. Or maybe something worse, and he now knew that his lifelong fear of anything small, winged, making an ominous buzzing noise and attacked without provocation, was nothing compared to some of the things he caught a glimpse of in one of Bobby's grimoires.

"Uh, guys?" Tony tried out a sort of small shout, but when they still didn't wake up, he yelled "Hey! What is this? A homeless shelter?"

Both men woke at the same time, each opening one eye.

"Nah, food's edible in a homeless shelter." John grumbled, then froze when he suddenly realised whose shoulder he'd been using as a pillow. He sat up straight, wiping his mouth and avoiding Bobby's eye. Which wasn't difficult since Bobby wasn't all that keen to look at John right then either.

A grinning Tony watched the hunters compose themselves as they got to their feet.

"So, has it worked? Has that guy been able to help Sam?" He didn't have a problem with Complementary Medicine, and certainly hadn't objected to the idea of a Native American trying out some sort of mojo on his desperately sick patient, especially if it worked.

John rubbed the sleep from his eyes and shook his head. "Dunno yet. They're still in there…"

"Dad?" Dean was standing in the doorway his face expressionless.

"Hey kiddo, how's Sam doing?" John studied him carefully, not wanting to leap to any conclusions.

"Jack said he'd be ok in time." Dean sounded as tired as he looked, but there was something else about him…_relief._ And if Dean believed The Awakening had worked then that was good enough for John.

Tony laid a hand briefly on Dean's shoulder, then moved into the room to examine his patient.

John, Bobby and Dean stayed outside, waiting anxiously for the Doc's verdict. John attempted to ask Dean what happened, but his son avoided answering any questions, just stayed silent and pensive. The boy was clearly shaken and nowhere near ready to talk about it, maybe never would.

Dean was staring at the floor, shoulders tense, mauling his bottom lip when Tony finally stepped from the room. He slowly raised his head, eyes searching the Doc's face. Tony smiled, nodding encouragingly and Dean finally allowed a small smile of his own to escape.

"I won't know anything for sure until his blood results come back, but his colour's already improving and his blood pressure's stabilising nicely." Dr Mitchell looked somewhat bewildered but happy. "Why don't you guys go on in and keep Sam company? I gotta get these blood specimens to the lab." With a wink and a small salute, he hurried off down the hallway.

Bobby watched him go then turned to Dean. "So it really worked?"

Dean nodded, appearing rather shell-shocked. "I guess so."

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean was reading to his brother and even enjoying 'The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe' though he'd never admit it to anyone, least of all Sam. He'd perfected the voice of Aslan, was proud of his portrayal of The White Witch and was working on all four voices of Peter, Edmund, Susan and Lucy, with laughable results. Peter and Edmund were fine, Susan not so bad, but when Dean tried for the higher little girl's voice of Lucy he came off sounding like a mouse with its tail caught in a trap. After nearly choking on his own vocal cords one too many times, Dean sighed in defeat and reverted to his own voice for Lucy. It sounded stupid but at least it didn't hurt.

He yawned and stretched wondering how much longer his father was going to be, stomach growling in anticipation of a nice big greasy burger. Dean glanced over at his brother with a small smile. The kid was still on the vent, still a little pale but improving all the time.

Sam's renal function was back to normal, yet further evidence of his recovery and Dean was already planning a welcome back party for his little brother. Low key of course so as not to overwhelm the poor kid, but the banner was up and stretched across the opposite wall and somewhere out in the offices a confused Tony was blowing up balloons and wondering how in hell he'd managed to get roped into this.

Dean's gaze returned from the banner to his brother and he suddenly leapt out of his seat.

Sam was staring up at the ceiling, tired eyes blinking, and one hand coming up to grab at the tube in his mouth.

"Hey, welcome back kiddo." Dean loomed over him smiling broadly, eyes glistening. "Let's see what Tony says before we take that out huh?" He gently caught Sam's hand in his and gave it a small squeeze, rubbing his arm.

Sam looked scared and confused, his eyes darting round the room in almost panicked movements.

"It's ok Sammy." Dean tried to calm him down. "You were gone a while but you're back now; nothing to be afraid of here. Dad and Bobby will be back soon and boy are they gonna be happy to see you awake at last." Sam's eyes lit on him and Dean could see the fear gradually residing. "S'good to have you back. You scared me kid."

"So sleeping beauty awakes at last!" Sam's eyes flittered across the room to see his father standing in front of the door, holding two takeout bags already saturated with grease.

"Welcome back son." Three long strides and John leaned over his youngest child, pressing a firm kiss to the top of his head. "Everything's gonna be ok Sam, just relax and get better. Dean needs his little brother to run circles round him, put 'im in his place."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah like _that's_ ever happened." Without thinking he grabbed at one of the takeout bags with his free hand and began rummaging for his burger, but John's pointed clearing of his throat made him pause. Dean looked up then glanced at Sam guiltily. His kid brother was still on gastric feeding; eating solid food in front of him seemed grossly unfair.

"Sorry little bro. I'll take this outside." But Sam held onto Dean's hand like a vice and shook his head slightly. His big brother read the silent message easily enough. _It's ok, please don't go._

For once Dean settled back to eat his burger almost gracefully and John did his best to hide a smile. Sam was watching his brother with wide eyed intent, a tiny grin forming around the ET tube suggesting he couldn't quite believe it either.

_Dean with table manners? Wonders will never cease!_

"Hey there kid…" Bobby and Tony entered the room and Sam was subjected to another few rounds of 'good to have you back'.

There was a brief spell of gloom and disappointment when Tony later tried to remove the ET tube. Sam's eyes widened in desperation and his mouth gaped open, whilst Dean gripped his hand in panic.

"Too soon." Tony muttered apologetically. "Sorry kid. You're not strong enough yet, but you will be. We'll try again tomorrow ok?"

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and heaved a sigh of relief when Sam settled down again. Sure it was disappointing but the sheer terror on Sam's face when he realised he wasn't getting any oxygen…Dean swallowed hard and tried to calm down; his heart was still pounding nineteen to the dozen.

"Jesus Sammy, you gotta stop scarin' me like this." His little brother somehow managed a sarcastic look which suggested he wasn't exactly happy about it either.

But he seemed resigned to his fate, another night with a breathing tube down his throat and Dean offered up a shaky smile of reassurance.

"It's ok. We've waited this long, we can hold on another day, right Sam?"

Half hour later and Dean could tell Sam was growing tired again, too many people in the room and talking at him was wearing him down, and his eyelids drooped; the hand gripping Dean's relaxed as sleep crept up in him.

"Go to sleep buddy. I'll be right here when you wake up."

Sam gazed gratefully up at his brother one last time before his eyes slid shut.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Ready Sam?" At the slight nod, Tony slowly and gently tried the extubation again. It was the third day since Sam had woken up, and Dean and John hovered anxiously in the background, fingers crossed and hearts in mouths.

"That's it…well done Sam. We're there." And Sam was suddenly breathing on his own. Tony reached over to the night stand and passed Dean a small cup of ice chips, instructing him to make sure Sam took them slowly. The Doc began checking Sam's IV, gastric tube and catheter, making sure there were no signs of infection, made a few adjustments, and after clipping an oxygen tube under Sam's nose finally took his leave. The family needed some time to themselves and Tony still had other things to do. Since barging into the hospital he'd accepted a few of the more specialised neurology cases from the overtaxed staff and now had a full workload. Though Sam had always taken priority, until now.

The boy was still under close observation in case of a return of the seizures but his latest EEG results indicated the anticonvulsants were doing their job. Tony, however, was still reluctant to release Sam from the ICU and into a private room just yet. It was too soon after extubation, and they needed to be prepared in case Sam suffered a relapse.

"How ya feelin' son?" John gently pulled the blankets up a little, just something to keep his restless hands occupied. He was a little nervous and wasn't quite sure why but he managed to hide it from both his boys under a veneer of concerned calm.

Sam nodded. "Ok I guess." He croaked out painfully and both Dean and John winced. That must have hurt. But it was a relief to hear something other than their own voices, or the noise of the vent and cardiac monitors.

"Who made the banner?" Sam finally got to voice the burning question he'd been waiting three days to ask. 'Welcome home Sammy' had been the first thing he'd really seen on waking up, next to his big brother of course. The balloons had made him smile and reminded him of birthday cakes and ice cream.

Dean grinned and held out his arm with a flourish. "You like? Made it myself."

Sam grinned back. "Never knew you were such an artist." His throat was hellish sore but it was getting easier to talk the more he used his vocal cords. "Thanks Dean. I love it."

Dean ruffled his hair affectionately. "Not a problem kid."

The three of them chatted light heartedly for a while, steering deliberately away from any heavy topics by silent agreement. At least until Sam was strong enough.

"Can I go home now?" Sam fixed his family with the wide pleading puppy dog eyes.

"Oh I think they'll wanna keep you here a little longer," his father easily resisted just as he sensed Dean weakening. "Just take it easy ok? You've been in a coma Sam, you need to rest."

Dean instantly slid a hand over his eyes when Sam turned to him again. "Don't look at me like that! And Dad's right; I'll bet you can't even stand up let alone walk outta here…" he risked a peak at his brother then slapped his hand back in place. "_Cut it out Sam!_"

His ridiculous behaviour was rewarded with a hoarse giggle followed by a low groan as Sam's throat protested at the treatment.

"Hah! Serves ya right, bitch!" Dean grinned in triumph. "That'll teach ya to keep ya mouth shut!"

"You couldn't shut up on pain of death, Jerk!" Sam retorted with a smile of his own.

Their father just sat back and listened in pained amusement as the friendly abuse continued well into the evening. Neither brother would back down, and Sam was starting to lose his voice when John finally called it a night, and threatened both boys with a heavyset nurse carrying a syringe full of sedative.

"Aw Dad, no fair!" Dean whined petulantly, "I was winning."

"Only because Sam was running out of steam," John explained, trying to smother a grin. When he got up to tuck his youngest in for the night, he missed Sam sticking his tongue out at Dean, and when he turned back it was to sad, mournful eyes that suggested butter wouldn't melt. John knew better of course. "Get some sleep. And no more bickering either of you!"

"But he started it…_yes_ sir." Dean grumbled under his breath at his father's stern glance then headed on over to the cot under the window. "'Night Sam."

"'Night Dean," then Sam mouthed _sucker_ before blowing a kiss and chuckled when Dean recoiled in disgust.

"Ew!"

"Dean! Bed! Now!"

"Yes Dad." More low grumbling, and soon the boys were settled with soft snores filling the room.

"G'night boys." John whispered softly before turning down the dimmer switch above Sam's bed.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

After a few days the gastric tube came out and Sam was officially allowed solid food, though only in small portions. Not that Sam was all that hungry, more often at the dangerous end of an angrily waved fork or spoon when Dean threatened him with violence if he didn't eat. He tried, he really did but his stomach was a little too unsettled and just wasn't used to _real_ food. On the last occasion it made Sam so sick he threw up what little he _had_ managed, and Dean was immediately full of remorse as he helped to clean him up.

"I'm sorry Sam, I didn't realise just how bad it was." He brushed away the nurse when she attempted to change Sam's sleep shirt, preferring to deal with the task himself. "There ya go. Better?"

Sam nodded tiredly, reaching for a glass of water to wash away the taste of vomit. "It's ok Dean. Just go easy on me? Please?" Sam asked softly as he stared up at his older brother through his long unruly fringe, looking rather lost and scared. "I'm trying, I promise. It's just too much…"

Dean sighed. "Yeah I know. I…I just want you to get well again." He shrugged, and glanced down at the floor. "You lost so much weight and…and I just felt so damn useless. I couldn't help you…I thought I was gonna lose you. _Again._"

The brothers fell silent as Sam took that in. He'd never seen his brother like this before, so tired and fearful.

"Dean, I…"

"Just promise me you won't give up." Dean raised his green gaze to Sam, eyes boring into his, and Sam got the impression there was more to this than the coma.

Sam cocked his head to one side. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Dean just continued to stare at him strangely. "Do you remember anything? When you were in the coma I mean?"

Sam just shook his head. "The last thing I can recall is you holding me down so that Dr Mitchell could give me the drugs. I was about to seize again…but you guys stopped it." Dean was holding back. "Come on Dean, tell me. I know something's wrong."

Dean stayed quiet for a moment, considering what to tell him. "You're still pretty down on yaself, huh?"

Sam blinked. He wasn't expecting that. "I…_what?_"

"I thought it was down to the epilepsy, but it goes deeper than that." Dean continued, partly to himself. "It goes back _further_ than that. We need more time together as a family; I'm gonna talk to Dad about taking a vacation, all _three_ of us this time…"

"I'm not a part of this conversation am I?" Sam smirked when Dean looked over at him a little startled.

"Sorry, I just…" Dean shook his head. "I don't know. Here, if you're feeling up to it lets work on those routines the physical therapist recommended."

Sam kept up the smirk but gingerly lowered the blankets. His legs had lost a serious amount of weight and muscle mass along with the rest of him and Dean tried not to stare in anguish at the stick thin limbs.

"Ok, let me know if this hurts, and don't push yourself too hard this time!" Dean admonished. In contrast to the tug of war over food, Sam had a tendency to be too impatient and Dean was determined to slow him down a little. He accomplished this by keeping a firm but gentle grip on Sam's calves, preventing him from going at it too fast.

Sam actually enjoyed these moments with Dean; his brother was surprisingly gentle and patient with him, always encouraging and lightly teasing. The bending and stretching was hard work on the atrophied muscles and Dean often took up the slack, manipulating the limbs and telling Sam to relax and let him do all the work.

Half an hour into it, Sam's sudden stifled gasp alerted Dean to trouble and he stopped the movement of Sam's legs, noting the speed at which his little brother grew pale.

"Cramp?" At Sam's nod, Dean went to work, digging his fingers into the offending area and kneading away at cramping muscle.

"Just breathe through it kiddo," Dean muttered, eyeing his brother worriedly. It was perfectly normal under the circumstances, and Sam had suffered a number of painful cramps during therapy, but sometimes he even woke up at night crying out in agony.

Sam's eyes were scrunched shut against the pain, which gradually began to subside under Dean's expert ministrations. He slowly relaxed back into his pillows, resisting the urge to scratch out the IV on the back of his hand. Damn thing was annoying the hell out of him, and kept pulling on him whenever he tried to move, which just added to his already growing list of frustrations.

"That's enough for today," Dean narrowed his eyes when Sam's mouth opened in protest. "Until tomorrow Sam, then we'll try again for longer."

His voice brooked no argument as he reached out, grabbing the TV remote off the nightstand, practically crowing with delight at the first channel he flipped to. "Transformers! Cool!"

Sam huffed out a small laugh and let his eyes drift close; just a small nap. That's all he needed. Pretty soon he was snoring softly under the watchful gaze of his brother.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"Dad we need to talk." It was a simple yet straight forward way of starting the conversation and instantly grabbed John's attention. Dean had made up his mind to tell his father about the Awakening, or at least an abridged version. He had to make him understand what this meant to Sam, what it might mean in future.

Once his kid brother had fallen asleep the film about robots turning into cars, and back again, no longer held his attention, and Dean went in search of his father.

John was silent for a moment, sensing this was going to be a somewhat deep discussion, then nodded. They wandered out in the hospital gardens and found a quiet sunny spot near a fountain.

"Dad, this isn't over. Sam needs more from us, more than just an understanding of his epilepsy. We need to try and understand _him_. The kid's crying out for us…he's not like us Dad, and he's so _lonely…_."

"Whoa, back up here." John was finding this hard to take in, and was more than a little surprised at his oldest son's sudden outburst. "Start from the beginning…"

Dean took a breath and explained what he'd seen during Jack's ritual, whilst John stayed silent unwilling to interrupt whilst his son was in full flow.

As Dean ran through it all, his father's heart sank a little second by second. It had never occurred to him that Sam would have been re-living the last sixth months, never crossed his mind just how damaged his youngest son had become by it all.

"Shit Dean," John whispered in despair.

"Yeah, I know. Kinda blew me away at the time." Dean acknowledged, giving his father a break. After all, they were _both _responsible for this; neither had seen it coming.

"You think that's why he didn't come out of the coma without help?" Dean asked tentatively, not all that certain he was going to like the answer. "'Cos I'm not sure I believe all that stuff about a Great Spirit."

John had to admit it seemed likely. But to think that Sam somehow managed to lock himself away in his own head, at risk of death…he shuddered. He shared Dean's belief or rather lack of in a higher power, whether it be God, The Great Spirit, or any kind of alcoholic beverage come to that, and was more inclined to think this was down to Sam. Though it didn't explain how Dean was able to step in and bring him back, some sort of powerful hypnosis perhaps? Or just plain luck?

Whatever it was, it didn't matter. John believed what Dean saw in his brother's head and it scared him. Scared him to the point of acknowledging it was time to take action.

After further discussion, in which Bobby joined them for the latter half, they finally came to a decision. It was time to start acting more like a family and less like a military unit. Sure, there were hunts out there that couldn't go unattended, but there had to be a balance, and Bobby Singer was going to help maintain that balance. Several phone calls to Caleb and Pastor Jim later, and a rota was set up. A _hunting_ rota.

Bobby and John would go out on the next job, after that it was Caleb and whoever Pastor Jim came up with as his partner, though Caleb was more inclined to work alone these days.

Any which way, Sam and Dean were kept out of it. For now. John knew Sam would deem it unacceptable to be left out on a permanent basis, and if his seizures were truly back under control then Sam could once again get involved.

But that was on a back burner. The important part was making sure the kid felt his family needed him for something _other_ than hunting, that he was one of them regardless of the family business. Sam had to see just how much he had going for himself.

John, Dean, and Bobby felt a little better now that they had a definite plan and made their way back to Sam's room. The youngster was still sleeping when they turned up, and Tony was busy checking his blood pressure.

"Everything ok?" Dean asked anxiously, eyeing the cuff round his brother's arm.

Tony smiled. "He's fine." He mouthed back. Satisfied with his patient's progress the Doc tiptoed over to the kid's family.

"I just gave him something to help with those night cramps you told me about. He should rest easy now."

John nodded and took hold of Tony's arm. "Mind if we have a word?"

"Sure."

Dean left his father and Bobby to it and quietly moved over to his little brother, content just to watch him sleep. He blinked back sudden tears, the warm salt water taking him by surprise.

God, he loved this kid. Had no idea what he'd do without him.

Dean had been like his father, obsessed with hunting, mistaking devotion to the hunt for being the same as devotion to his family. But it had all been an illusion. What was the point in hunting if your family died?

He'd come close to losing Sam so many times over the years, and now all Dean wanted to do was take care of him, let him have a normal childhood and enjoy ordinary _kid_ things. But it was too late for that and all they could do was move on from this place, allow Sam the breathing room and love he needed to grow into his own person.

"No more stifling, Sam. No more trying to hammer a square peg into a round hole." Dean smiled. "Geek boy." He whispered.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

The family vacation, when suggested, had been eagerly accepted by Sam, and the kid surprised everyone by announcing his desire to go to Bobby's place. It soon emerged that Sam had overheard a conversation about a hunt and wanted to get stuck into some research.

Dean's hot protests died a quick death in the face of those puppy dog eyes, but John took a little more convincing.

"Please Dad. I _want_ to help. It's what I do best." The unspoken _it's all I'm good for_ didn't go unnoticed, and John sighed deeply.

_Kid, we gotta lot of work to do._

But the prospect of helping out really did seem to bolster Sam's spirits and his dimpled smiles put in a welcome appearance more often. Tony popped in on regular visits to draw blood, make the usual health checks and generally discuss Sam's well being. Tony was overall very pleased with the progress the boy had made and even commented on how much happier he seemed.

The kid was relegated to a wheel chair for the first few weeks since he was still pretty weak and needed to gain a lot more weight, but he was sleeping better, the physical therapy getting easier, and with the constant encouragement and support from his family Sam was picking up a healthy glow.

Sam was being home schooled by a local tutor under Bobby's recommendation, and during his study hours – which started out as only a couple of hours a day – Dean spent his time under the hood of one of Bobby's wrecks, his father offering up handy hints and tips on how to get certain tasks done more quickly.

Singer's Salvage Yard seemed to be a constant echo of laughter these days, not that anyone was complaining. It was a pleasure to hear Sam laughing at Dean's lame jokes or, as he got his strength back, playing hide 'n' seek amongst the cars, Bobby and John sometimes joining in with the childish game. Sam was still a kid after all, in spite of the sometimes precocious attitude – which was more than welcomed as a sign of Sam's growing confidence.

However, Dean still held the prestigious title King of the Pranks.

"Sam!" He whispered, then gestured at him from behind an old Ford. Sam scrambled over to his brother, their backs pressed against the battered car. "Dad's at three o'clock!"

Sam nodded. "Bobby's to the South…" His eyes widened when he saw what Dean held in his hands. "You're not….really?"

Dean nodded, a mischievous grin stretching from ear to ear. "Yup."

"Ok," Sam's own brand of mischief shone from his face, "I'll round 'em up. You get ready." Dean watched his little brother with no small amount of pride as he silently slipped away.

In a manner similar to a sheep dog, and a sneaky one at that, Sam moved round, set off strange noises and distractions at appropriate points, and slowly but surely lured his father and Bobby into Dean's trap.

Bobby and John knew it the instant they turned round and saw Dean standing firm, feet shoulder width apart and holding a…

"Dean! Don't you dare!"

…water hose.

"Oh, I dare" And with the most charming yet smug grin Sam had ever seen on his brother's face, Dean let rip.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

Dean studied the furious faces of his Dad and Bobby with some interest, then having correctly interpreted the expressions of malice and revenge, nodded to himself.

"Sammy?" he spoke casually.

"Yep?"

"_Run!"_

_Laughter._ And the sound of rapidly retreating feet filled Singer's Salvage Yard.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Author's notes:**_

_I know it's not the best of endings, and it's been a really weird chapter for me I must confess, but it's the best I could do. I do intend to return to this AU at some point in the future, but for now this particular story is at an end. I have other fics in the fire so to speak…_

_Many thanks for all your support with this so called one-shot. And to Gidgetgal, hope you enjoyed the extra helping of Limp Sam and Dean Angst in this one._

_Kind regards,_

_ST.xxx._


End file.
